


for appearances' sake

by palmofafreezinghand



Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Infant Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:48:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29058522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palmofafreezinghand/pseuds/palmofafreezinghand
Summary: In need of a good cover story in 1923 Carlisle and Esme pretend to be married. With a little nudge from their telepathic "son" can the two come together?This  AU was originally posted & created by esmeshardwoodfloors on tumblr!!!
Relationships: Carlisle Cullen/Esme Cullen
Comments: 18
Kudos: 28





	1. a ruse emerges

**Author's Note:**

> Ok this first chapter is just a ton of scene setting I know and I'm sorry I promise we'll get to dumb vampires being dumb vampires soon.

It had been two and a half years since the farm girl from Ohio who climbed trees and hated tablecloths had turned their lives upside down.

Carlisle was the happiest he had ever been. For the first time in his life he had something worth coming home to. For decades he had spent his hours home waiting for the hours to pass, for the clock to finally chime and allow him to go to work. He spent every moment investing in ways to combat the haunting loneliness. He tried to fill the silence with music. He learned instruments in an attempt to pass the time only to be crushed by the silence when he finished a piece. Later he filled his home with phonographs in an attempt to drown out the sounds of the world passing him by. He decked his walls with masterpieces to fill his house with beauty while his life had none. He only saw museum worthy landscapes hung where family portraits belonged. He learned every language he could so he could speak with everyone he ever met. Yet, he was unable to find the words to say how his day was. He read every book known to man but was only reminded of what he was deprived of. He would hold his own hand when the loneliness got crushing. He would lie on the ground and stack books on top of himself in an attempt to mimic a hug. He was overly aware that he had spent multiple human lifetimes in these moments. The misery reached its crescendo when thousands died while he sat in an empty room staring at the wall. Waiting for the time to return to the hospital only to watch more people die, and be forced, again, to return home. Forced to sit, and wait, completely helpless.

In a moment of great weakness or strength, he had yet to decide, he made the decision to doom another to this life. The seventeen year old brought noise to a silent existence. Carlisle had longed for a companion for so many years and here he was. The two debated lively, played chess, ran as fast as they could just for fun. They had fun. He had everything he ever dared to want and was bewildered by the ache he began to feel. He had someone who laughed at his jokes, enjoyed spending time with him, someone to celebrate holidays with and he still wanted more. He needed more, there was a constant gnawing reminding him there must be more. He had always secretly longed for a partner but, he decided long ago that it was one of those desires he would never satiate. He longed to remember what it was like to sleep, to taste food and enjoy it, to know the relief after a cry too, but he knew he would never know them again. Yes, he had always longed to have someone love him unconditionally, to be truly known by someone and to have them stay because they knew you. Edward had become a companion, and for that he thanked God everyday, but their relationship was conditional.

Edward looked up to Carlisle as a creator and leader. The twenty three year old was suddenly responsible for an entire being’s welfare. It was a tremendous responsibility, and not one Carlisle took to seamlessly. He failed often and Edward never failed to let him know. Carlisle was in a constant state of worry of letting down the boy he destined to eternity. One wrong move and he knew Edward could be and would be gone. He was positive that one day he would return home and he would be met with silence. He would not be wrapped up in the comfort of the piano. Edward wouldn’t bound down the stairs asking questions and responding before Carlisle could even spit out the words. The chess board would still be set waiting for moves to be played that never would be. He was petrified that one day everything he loved would be gone and he would be alone. Alone, once again, but overly aware of the joys he was missing. He would be launched into solitude and it would be his own fault, and he wasn’t sure he could survive that.

He had no intentions on changing another person that night. In fact, Edward hadn’t spoken to Carlisle in three days after the two had gotten into a quite heated argument about the very subject. It wasn’t so much an argument as much as Edward screaming at Carlisle for hours on end about the eternal hell he had been forced to live in. The hateful, but justified, words had echoed in Carlisle’s head his entire shift. He was dreading going home, so he offered to process the new body before he left for the night. He was so distracted he almost missed it, a heartbeat where a heartbeat didn’t belong. Though, it was the scent that hit him first. The blood was overwhelming. He hadn’t had a reaction to blood that strong in years, his legendary control may have faltered right then, if he didn’t realize how he knew that scent.

Ten years prior he had met a patient that tested his control so greatly he moved the very next day. Here she was ten years later and eight hundred miles away. The sixteen year old girl, who climbed trees and cursed in Yiddish, was moments away from death. Her heartbeat was so faint he, with supernatural abilities, could barely hear it. Her spine was bent in an angle that sent a shiver down his own. There was no way she would live but there was no way he would let her die. The girl who had the brightest smile he had ever seen and big dreams for the future was not going to die. She deserved a chance at life. He wanted her to live. He made the decision in seconds. He didn’t even know he had made the choice to change her until he was tasting her blood.  
He had tasted Edward’s blood and understood the appeal but this? This was a completely different overwhelming sensation. He couldn’t stop. It all made sense suddenly. For all those years he had been denying himself this, for what? How could he be an evil creature when God made something so divine? This was the masterful plan, he was sure. Only God could create something so perfect. Who was he to go against God? Her injuries and blood loss would kill her in minutes so why not speed up the process? Wouldn’t that be what a doctor would do? End her misery? Between these thoughts he was able to regain his control and stop for a second but would quickly succumb again. He managed to stop completely at bite eight.

The scars looked like a product of a ferocious battle not a careful doctor’s handiwork. Her neck, her wrists, her thighs, and her chest all bore a testament to his failure. He had never believed in the concept of ‘singers.’ Being so drawn to a scent, with no rhyme or reason, to the point of losing all control was unfathomable to him. Yet, here he was running his hand over the cheek of a woman he had nearly drained of blood without a second thought. He wasn’t even sure the venom could save her at that point. What if he put her through the pain for nothing, but he had to try.

He cradled her cold body in his arms and ran, faster than he had ever run before, to his home nestled far away from humans.  
Edward met him at the porch furious and already shouting at him. ‘ _Ah, I see you’re speaking to me again._ ’ Carlisle thought, which enraged Edward further. Carlisle could not seem to spare any concern for his best friend’s anger. His one and only concern was the frail woman in his arms. He placed her on a loveseat in his office with as much care and gentility as if she was a priceless artifact. The screaming quickly followed, and Carlisle silently rejoiced. She would make it. She would live. He sat by her side all three hellish days, clutching her hand the whole time. He knew as soon as her eyes opened life would never be the same.

Esme joining their lives made the three into a family. They weren’t soulless vessels simply existing with each other because unenjoyable company beat loneliness. Life was by no means easy but it was very much worth it. The three worked together as a team beautifully. Carlisle was no longer the teacher and Edward no longer the permanent student. They all learned from each other, made up for the other’s mistakes, and rejoiced in each other’s successes. She was a force of light and laughter in the lives of two very gloomy men. She disrupted the routine of two completely rigid individuals and neither could be happier. Esme gave Carlisle permission to be young again. She was an opponent in games that did not cheat. They made cultural references that Edward didn’t understand. He was her creator but she was truly his equal. Her presence allowed Edward to be joyful while also an authority. He was the one teaching and leading a newborn. But she also looked after him, not because she had some moral obligation but because she wanted to. In return, they allowed her to simply be herself again. They asked her thoughts, encouraged her to read and learn whatever she wanted, and forgave her when she failed.

Carlisle fell in love with her quite quickly. Although he was too afraid to admit it, even to himself, for months. Esme, very quickly, became his best friend and confidant. He told her stories he had never uttered aloud. She asked him questions about himself he had never even considered the answers for. She wanted to know him, every single thing about him. Which terrified him, everyone who had ever ‘known’ him had only been disappointed. Yet, she soon became the person who knew him best and she was still there everyday welcoming him home. Something told him, despite all logic, that she always would be and it scared how much he wanted her to be. The guilt he felt for loving her was overwhelming at times. As soon as he learned she had not fallen from the cliff, but rather, purposefully jumped, he knew he had not saved her. He instead had violated her very being. It was an unforgivable offense yet he selfishly and secretly was glad he did it.

Esme had forgiven him in seconds, she never even considered being mad at him. In her mind he had given her what she always wanted, a new start. The grief that drove her off the cliff, however, didn’t dissolve as soon as she was given a new chance at life. It was palpable at times hanging over the little home like a heavy fog. Working through the trauma and grief that had filled her last years of human life was no easy task but she did it. Carlisle was in awe at the way she adapted to her new life even before he knew her past. When she did finally share her story with him awe turned into utter disbelief.

He had promised himself right then and there he would spend the rest of his life devoted to her. It didn’t matter if his affections weren’t returned all that mattered to him was that she was happy and safe. He swore to never allow her to know how he truly thought of her. He believed he would be another man violating her. He didn’t allow himself to notice her gazes as anything more than gazes. Her soft touches to his forearm when he told a funny joke. The way she would reach out and squeeze his hand in reassurance. Her habit of softly placing a hand on his shoulder when she passed behind him. He saw all of these as just a way she interacted. He would not allow himself to examine her actions or overthink her statements. He could not, for a second, believe she felt a sliver of what he did or he would be unable to keep it a secret. He did not want to misinterpret her actions as affection and take advantage of their relationship. She may feel she would have to say it back out of obligation for “ _saving her_.” That would be worse than her not saying it at all. Carlisle did not save her to be some sort of vampire bride for himself. He saved her so she could have a life. He was positive one day a much better man than himself would come along and he would have to hear her say the three little words to another. A man who deserved to witness the kindness and strength she possessed. Not a man like her ex husband. Not a man of evil. Yes, he was sure he was not that man. For he was a man who had forced her into a miserable eternity, removed all elements of choice from her life, and taken advantage of her courtesy and developed feelings for her. How would he be any better than Charles if he then acted on his inappropriate feelings? Making her feel uncomfortable was an unbearable concept for him. So he loved her in silence. He was her best friend, and she his, but nothing more. Despite how much both parties wished there was something more.

They had stayed in Ashland, Wisconsin for a little over two years while Esme gained more and more control of her thirst. She had reached a point where she could start reintegrating into society. But, that would be impossible in a town that thought she was dead. The three had decided on a small town an hour outside Vancouver. Carlisle would work in a hospital in Vancouver and Edward would go to classes at a college in town. Socializing in a big city provided them a level of anonymity while residing in small towns allowed them to escape the constant threat of human blood. The house had been chosen. A small, mildly dilapidated, two story nestled among tall trees and solitude. The location was perfect, Esme wouldn’t be threatened by blood lust when at home but would still be able to associate with humans on a semi-regular basis. Although a new problem emerged with Esme’s reintroduction to society.  
Carlisle and Edward had been posing as brothers or brother in laws. Two bachelors living together had raised a few eyebrows, but most paid no mind to the situation. Two bachelors living with a single woman, however, would hardly be ignored by good society. Drawing attention and scandal was the last thing three vampires attempting to be inconspicuous needed.

“Well, you surely can’t pass as siblings,” Edward said sprawled on the loveseat looking towards Esme, who sat at the window. Neither Esme, nor Carlisle, asked why they couldn’t pass as siblings. Their ages were correct, their looks were a little off, but humans accept the facts they’re told. The way they looked at each other, however, would reveal they were not siblings, or just really really gross siblings.

“No, but you two could.” Carlisle pointed out while he added another log to the fire.

“And you could be the orphan we adopted!” Edward chuckled, he looked over to Carlisle who was smiling to himself. Esme’s face hadn’t changed, she stayed staring out into the snowy yard.

“Esme, do you have any ideas?” Edward asked, hoping to bring her attention back.

She shook her head, still staring out the window, and quietly said, “No, I’m just sorry that I’ve caused such trouble for you two.”

Carlisle made his way from the fireplace at that. He took a seat by her side, at a speed that was humanly impossible. “I believe Edward holds the title of lead trouble maker, not you.” He said just as quiet. She finally looked away from the window and smiled at him.

“We could be ex-circus performers!” Edward chuckled.

“We’re surely strange enough.” Carlisle laughed.

“That’d still be three single unrelated folks living together.” Esme reminded them.

“No you and I are siblings, still! We could be the magic siblings, one reads minds and the other can run very fast.” He said, finally sitting up. He pressed a finger to his temple grinning, “I’ll tell you what you’re thinking right this moment.” He paused for a moment as if he needed to wait to hear her thoughts. She stared at him, one eyebrow raised. “Hm, very interesting, very interesting” he said as he nodded, scanning her thoughts, which finally earned him a small smile.

“I could probably tell you what she’s thinking, without the ability to read minds.” Carlisle said.

“That this is a bunch of bogus and humans can’t read minds?” She asked, grinning.

He laughed and nodded, “That this is a bunch of bogus and humans can’t read minds.” Edward rolled his eyes at the two, and slumped back into the couch. The two had spent the past two years completely enamored with each other but refusing to act on their feelings. Which resulted in awkward flirting and cringeworthy interactions at times. Despite the troublesome thoughts he had to endure he rooted for the two. He couldn’t say why precisely they just made sense together. They were two kindest people he knew, in a world that was less than kind to them, they deserved a little good. He was strong in his belief vampires didn’t have souls, so soulmates couldn’t possibly exist for them. He watched the best man he ever knew work each and every single day to be a better man for her. To be a man that he deemed ‘deserved’ Esme, he started to believe. With that thought he sprung back upright.

“I’ve got it!” He grinned as Esme and Carlisle tilted their heads the same direction. “I’m Esme’s younger brother she so lovingly took in and I live with her,” he paused as he watched as their sincere curiosity turned into shock with his next words, “and her surgeon husband.” He smirked as both stumbled for words.“It’s genius. There won’t be a scandalous relationship but it also works to keep people away. Mothers will stop trying to set you up with their absolutely wonderful daughters,” he mocked and pointed to Carlisle, “and we won’t have to chase away suitors coming for Esme.” He smiled, thrilled at his brilliance, maybe this would finally push the two idiots together. “Unless,” he drew out the word, “there’s a valid reason you two object?”

“I-well, uh,” Esme muttered, at a loss for words.

“You see, well, all I’m saying, uhm.” Carlisle said at the same time.

“Perfect!” Edward smiled and clasped his hands together, “Meet the new Dr. and Mrs. Cullen!”

After a solid three minutes of silence Carlisle pretty much whispered,“It is a good story,” as he stared at the floor, unable to meet her eyes, “unless you object, of course.”

“As long as you’d be comfortable, I see no problems.” Esme said, as she stared at the same piece of dust on the floor.

“It’d be an honor.” He said, as he finally looked up at Esme, who was smiling back at him.

“Now you have to make it believable,” Edward butted in, scared the two would forget his presence, their thoughts were already dangerously close. “Occasional hand holding, promenades in the park, loving glances, cute pet names, etcetera. Yet, that doesn’t seem like much of a detour from your current interactions.” That last comment resulted in both sending him chastising thoughts, he only smiled back as he shook his head. “Well, I better leave you two lovebirds to decide which mortifying story of how you met you’ll use,” and with that he raced out of the living room leaving the two to their inevitably uncomfortable conversation.


	2. the happiest man undead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> carlisle fumbles through a proposal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings!! mention / reference to domestic abuse and infant death (no depictions of either just impacts of both)   
> thank you all so much for being so kind & even reading this! I have to admit this chapter got away from me a little bit (hence the 7,000 words, oops!)

It had been two days since Edward suggested ‘ _the ruse_ ,’ as had become known as in their little home. Since then Edward had been avoiding Esme and Carlisle. Both of whom were avoiding each other by trying to spend time with Edward. Who was actively trying to not spend time with them. It was a complicated situation made even more difficult by the constant thoughts Edward had to hear. He supposed it was a miserable situation of his own making. How was he to know that pretending to be in love would be so troubling for two people in love? In hindsight he probably should have seen the idea was a bad one but it was too late.

After two long days Esme had finally cornered Edward. The very minute she was sure Carlisle was out of earshot, as he drove to his last day of work, she was in the music room. “Have you lost your mind?” She seethed as she stood in the doorway.

He stopped playing and looked up at her innocently,“I thought you liked Paganini?”

“You know I’m not talking about the music.”

“I really don’t see what the problem is.” He turned to face her, he really did not understand.

“The problem is I have to pretend to be Carlisle’s wife!”

“If I recall correctly you would very much like to be his wife, what is the issue?”

Esme sighed taking a seat on the loveseat he had set up in the music room so she could sit and listen to him play. “Not like this,” she paused before she whispered, “not as a joke.”

Edward didn’t know how to respond. He so wished he could tell her that Carlisle didn’t see it as a joke. Everything she wanted she could have but he couldn’t tell her. He couldn’t just reveal someone’s most private thoughts even if it meant their wildest dreams coming true. “I’m sorry,” was all he could think to say.

She just sadly smiled at him,“That wasn’t Paganini.”

“You’re getting better! Who was it?”

She paused. It was a game they had been playing since she ‘ _woke up_.’ Edward was thrilled to be able to teach someone about music. Carlisle had studied music, was an avid fan, and an even harsher critic. Esme on the other hand thought everything Edward played was lovely, except the angry stuff. Why did it have to be so angry?

So he had been slowly teaching her composers he loved, and testing her randomly. She thought about it and finally guessed, “Beethoven?”

He groaned, “You can’t guess Beethoven for every single one!”

“I’m bound to be right one of these days!” She laughed.

“Not if I never play Beethoven because I know you only guess Beethoven.”

“That’s not fair.”

“I’ve never been accused of playing fair.” He smirked, as he turned back to his piano. Esme just smiled at that. They sat in the music room for hours before either spoke again.

“You’ll tell me if I ever overstep right?” She asked eyes focused on her sketch.

“Overstep?”

“If I make him uncomfortable, if he starts to get suspicious, you’ll tell me?”

“You should be asking him this.”

“And how would that go? ' _Hello Carlisle, if you ever suspect that I am wildly in love with you please tell me so I can try to hide it better_.'”

“That sounds perfectly reasonable.” He said it seriously but Esme could hear the smile in his voice.

“Edward.”

“Of course I’ll tell you.”

“Shouldn’t he be home by now?” Esme asked, she knew she was right without asking. She had memorized his work schedule at this point. Knew exactly how long it took him to get home after his work shift ended, depending on traffic, his mood, his thirst. According to her calculations he was over forty minutes late. The three of them were planning on leaving once Carlisle was home from work. They were going to drive, much to Esme’s dismay, and wanted to leave before it was dark.

“I’m sure he just got tied up in goodbyes or something.” Edward shrugged.

The two went back to comfortable silence filled only by Edward’s piano and the sound of Esme’s pencil. She eventually made her way to the backyard to say goodbye to the garden she had grown over the two years.

* * *

Carlisle practically jumped out of his own skin when Edward suggested this cover story. He was convinced he would be the first vampire to ever faint when the words “ _Mrs. Cullen_ ,” rolled off his tongue. He knew this was just an arrangement out of convenience, that she wasn’t really his wife, that she could never possibly love him. Still, he was determined to do this right.

He had spent his entire last shift considering what “ _doing this right_ ” really meant when it came to a fake marriage. He had landed on a fairly crazy plan but one that seemed right at the time. After work he stealthily crept into the local jewelry store. Luckily, there were few other people in the store, and none that he knew. He spent close to an hour and a half looking over the different choices. At first he was called to the large diamonds, emerald cut with intricate bands. A ring like that would certainly be a statement. The possessive part of him, a part of him that had no right to exist, cheered at the idea of a physical reminder to others of their relationship. But this wasn’t about him, he wanted to give Esme a gift, and this style was too ostentatious for her. He moved on to the more classic rings, a diamond on a plain band but that was too simple. He finally found the perfect one. Well, not the perfect one, that one sat in the bottom drawer of his desk at home.

He had bought it for no particular reason back in 1883. An art dealer he knew had shown it to him while he was inquiring after a specific piece of art. He had never collected jewelry or even been interested in the art form; but, this ring was something he had to have. The jewel was beautiful but not too large to be showy. The gold setting had subtle engraved leaves branching away from the diamond. It was elegant but delicate, soft but gorgeous. In his wildest dreams he would someday give it to a woman just the same. When he met Esme he knew it was hers. All these years he had just been holding on to it for her. So why couldn’t he bring himself to give it to her now? He wanted to give her a ring. Why not that one? He knew the answer, but could not allow himself to even think it. That ring was a ring of love, of vows, and a promise to stand by each other through eternity. That was not the situation he found himself in at the moment. A small part of him still held hope one day he would be able to make that promise with her. That they would one day be able to promise each other forever. If he gave her that ring now he would be releasing his last ounce of hope, and he just couldn’t.

This ring was fine. A gift from a friend to another friend. An object simply to make their facade believable. So he bought the ring that was understated but still pretty, nothing too spectacular. He bought a matching wedding band because he didn’t know which she’d prefer. He hovered over the very small selection of men’s rings before he decided against it.

He drove home with the rings tucked in his inside coat pocket. This seemed like a great idea when he had thought it up but now he was driving home and anxiety had struck. What if she saw this as aggressive? Was he taking this arrangement too seriously? How would he even go about giving her the rings? Would she even want them? Was he inflicting unnecessary pain on himself? He wanted more than anything to be her husband for real and here he was making a mockery of it. He got home and Esme was in her garden, harvesting the last remaining flowers. Edward was sitting in the music room with a smug look on his face.

Before Carlisle could tell Edward what he had done or his concerns Edward whisper shouted, so Esme couldn’t hear him, “You bought her an engagement ring?”

“It’s not what it looks like!” Carlisle stage whispered right back.

“You’ve lost your mind.”

“I’m losing it trying to figure out how to give her these.”

“How about, _‘Esme, I’m crazy in love with you, have been for a really long time. I think about you non-stop, Edward is about to kill me, please put him out of his misery and just marry me already?_ ’” Edward mocked.

“Not funny.” Carlisle sat down on Esme’s loveseat.

“You bought her an engagement ring and didn’t expect me to make fun of you even just a little bit?”

“It’s just to make this believable.” Carlisle wasn’t sure if that was an attempt to assure Edward or himself.

Edward snorted at that. “You’re such a bad liar. How have you kept a secret this long?”

“It doesn’t help you can hear my thoughts.”

“Oh and what thoughts they are. ‘ _Esme’s so pretty. Esme Cullen. Oh that just sounds so nice. Oh I love her but I’m a monster and she could never love a monster like me. Who could ever love a vampire? Oh wait, she’s a vampire! I love a vampire. But she’s such a good vampire and I’m a bad vampire even though I’ve never killed a single person, still very very bad vampire.’_ ” Edward was still whispering but had changed his whisper to a nasal British impression.

“I don’t sound like that.” Carlisle said as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“No, you’d be much more entertaining company if you did.” Edward laughed. “But seriously, how did you think this was going to go?”

“I guess I didn’t.” He said honestly.

He had not thought of the repercussions until the ring was in his pocket. He had not thought how he was going to pretend to be Esme’s husband knowing he never would be. How painful it would be to know that he was destined to play a charade forever when he wanted to be nothing but her husband. When a man did get to be her husband, her real one, and completely and utterly abused the position and her. If Carlisle was given the privilege of being her husband, her real one, he knew he’d worship the ground she walked on like he knew she deserved. Maybe that’s why he bought the ring. Maybe this was his way of showing he wanted to do it ‘right.’

“That’s a first.”

“Edward.” Carlisle chastised. “Do you have any ideas?”

“Oh plenty! You could surprise her with a candlelit feast of deer blood, try to seduce her in one of your pirate shirts, you could do a jig, maybe try-”

“Helpful ideas.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I’m a man in a crisis!” Carlisle stood and started pacing the length of the room.

“A crisis!” Edward chuckled, as he shook his head. “The only crisis you’re in is one you’ve created yourself.” He put his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, his tone was suddenly serious. “Esme is out there ecstatic she got to see the last flowers bloom, in a dress that has twelve patches, happy as a clam just to exist. If you stopped worrying about everything maybe you could see that all the reactions you have planned in your head aren’t going to happen. You got her a lovely gift, that she will probably love. But I have to ask, do you really want her to be just your fake wife?”

“It doesn’t matter what I want.”

“I think it does.”

With that the back door opened and closed. “The snowbells opened!” Esme exclaimed as she practically skipped into the room. Carlisle loved how enthusiastic she was about the garden. Her control was remarkable. He had been practicing withholding his strength for years before he felt comfortable holding flowers. Esme on the other hand was able to protect her plants within a few weeks. The first time she brought him home a bouquet of wildflowers he could have sworn he lost all ability to think.“They’re a little early so they probably won’t last but they’re pretty for now.” She looked up at Carlisle who gave her a smile. “How’d your last day go?”

“Fairly well. I apologize for my tardiness.” He had learned early on Esme was one for punctuality. His or Edward’s tardy or early arrival home, made her anxious, a trait violently learned in her human life. Despite knowing this, he was close to two hours late.

“Quite alright, I’m sure you had reason. Want to see the snowbells before we leave?”

“I’d love to.” He smiled, “Edward?”

“Already saw them,” He tapped his temple and Esme rolled her eyes.

“Don’t worry, I drug him out there already. Reminding him, once again, reading my thoughts is not the same as seeing for himself.” She laughed as she grabbed Carlisle’s hand and pulled him out to the garden. Edward could detect the melancholy under Esme’s delight and worried what Carlisle’s intended fake proposal would do.

He cleared his throat before Carlisle was fully out of the room. When the doctor looked back at him he shook his head and mouthed, ‘ _don’t_.’ He knew Carlisle would take it wrong, he wouldn’t understand that he was protecting both of them from heartbreak.  
  


* * *

  
“They’re beautiful.” Carlisle said as he gazed at her flowers.

“Aren’t they?”

“I can already imagine what you’ll do at the new house. The backyard is much bigger than this one.” He said looking around the backyard. She laughed at that.

“Maybe I’ll try growing vegetables.”

“Really?” Carlisle asked as he looked down to her, confused. “Just for looks, or? We can’t eat them.”

“Oh, I forgot.” She let out an airy laugh.

“You did?”

“No,” she laughed fully that time as she shook her head. “How could I just forget the whole blood drinking thing?”

“I don’t really know.” He laughed with her. They fell into silence as they looked out in the backyard. After a minute or two he asked quietly, “are you alright?”

“What?” She looked up at him confused, she didn’t think she said anything wrong.

“I don’t know. We haven’t seen much of each other in the past couple days and when we have you’ve seemed, off? I know moving is hard the first couple times. I just, I don’t know. I want to make sure you’re alright.” It had been two and a half years of living with the doctor and his genuine concern for her well being still shocked her. She wasn’t sure she had acknowledged that she wasn’t doing alright, but in minutes he had noticed.

“I’m fine. I’m really not bothered by the move. Even before all this,” she gestured her hands around her, “I honestly never expected to stay in Ashland for long.” She paused as she gathered her words, Carlisle just listened. “I think part of me feels guilty though.”

“Guilty?” He asked quietly.

“I feel like I’m leaving him behind.” Her words hung in the air as both pondered the thought. The little boy should have been two. Should have been running around, wrecking havoc, and driving his mother crazy. Not a day went past that she didn’t think of him. Grief was still her friend and she knew it would always be. The days when she was paralyzed by the grief grew fewer but when they happened it was completely consuming. It wasn’t one of those days.

She finally whispered, “I know that isn’t true. The rational part of my brain knows that physically he will always be here but he’s not actually here. I am not abandoning him. I just feel that way, and I think I just need to feel that way for a little while.” Carlisle did not let the emphasis on ‘need’ go unnoticed.

Carlisle was an excellent problem solver. It was one of the traits he liked best about himself. There were rarely problems he could not solve. Changed into a creature that was sustained by human blood but did not want to murder innocent people? Solved. Wanted to use eternity to help people but his very being threatened them? Solved. Changed a teenager who inherited all of his own melancholy and loathes life? Well... he was working on that one.

He wanted to solve people’s problems; it was just how he operated. He felt uneasy when those around him were in conflicts. Most of all, he hated to see the people he cared about hurting. He worked tirelessly until he found the way to absolve their pain. It was a fight Carlisle and Esme had been in before. She felt things so deeply, and Carlisle loved her for it, but it also meant her pain was overwhelming. He tried to fix it, to cure it, to patch up the problems so she wouldn’t be in pain; but, in those efforts all he did was hurt her more. His help appeared as diminishing the problem, as attempts to get her to move on and simply forget. “ _I am not looking for solutions, I just need support,_ ” had become a saving grace in their relationship. He still wanted to fix things but he wanted to be what she needed more.

“You deserve to be happy,” he whispered after some time.

“I am.” She knew he was staring at her but she couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes yet. “I am, truly, I hope you know that.”

“I do.”

“I am so happy with you.” She heard when his breath caught at that and she quickly added,“with Edward… With Joseph's memory. I am happy, it’s just not always a straight path.”

“How simple life would be if it was,” he sighed.

“Awfully boring, though,” she smiled as finally looked up at him.  
“Awfully boring, indeed.” He nodded. Carlisle suddenly looked out at the yard around him. “It’s dark.”

“Guess we’ll have to run.” Esme smirked, signally the end of their wistful discussion. “It is past your curfew.” She nudged her elbow against him, noting that he still held that plaintive stare.

“I am 200 years your senior, Ms. Platt. If anyone should have a curfew it would be you.” He said with feigned indignation.

“Sure thing, kid.” She couldn’t say the full sentence with a straight face, she broke into laughter which triggered Carlisle’s own.

“I am sorry, I was late. I know you find driving more tolerable when you can fully see your surroundings.”

She shrugged, “I’ll guess I’ll just have to do with conversation. If only my companions were more interesting.” She added a woeful sigh.

“You didn’t ask why I was late.” Carlisle observed after a few quiet moments.

He knew she must have wondered, but he also knew she would never freely ask him. He wanted her to though. When she was reminiscing about her son he had realized why he picked the ring he did. Edward’s warning was still present in his mind, but this was not a false engagement ring anymore. This was genuinely a gift.

“Hm?”

“I was late today and you didn’t ask why.”

“Like I said you must have had your reasons.”

“But you didn’t want to know them?” He asked.

“Oh, I do, but it’s really none of my business.”

“I was at the jewelers.”

“Hm.” Her face remained unchanged.

“You’re not going to ask why?”

“Am I allowed to ask why?”

“You’re _allowed_ to ask whatever you want.”

“Would you rather have teeth for fingernails or fingernails for teeth?” She asked without missing a beat.

“What?”

“You said I could ask anything!”

“I really didn’t expect that question.”

“I’d rather have teeth fingernails personally,” she mused.

“Is that really the question you’ve been waiting to ask?”

“Yes, Edward thinks fingernail teeth seem better and I needed a tie breaker.”

He considered the question genuinely and finally said, “I side with you, fingernail teeth wouldn’t be practical. They’d bend when you bit into things.” He shuddered at that thought, although he would rather have neither.

“It’d make hunting quite impractical, wouldn’t it?”

“We’re still vampires in this scenario?”

“What else would we be?” Esme shrugged, “So, why’d you go to the jewelers?”

“For this.” He got the ring box out of his pocket and passed it to her. He opened the box after she just stood there and stared at it.

“They’re beautiful.” She said quietly.

“I’m glad you like them.” He said taking the more intricate ring out of the box. “I hope I got the size right.”

“Who’s size?”

“Your size.”

“My size?”

“Why do you think Edward would like them better? I don’t see him as a jewelry man but you know him better than I do.” He teased.

“Carlisle.” She said with a look he couldn’t begin to read.

“Esme.”

“Carlisle.” She repeated in the same tone giving him the box back.

She had placed the boys on a strict ‘no-random-gift’ policy after a quite heated competition when she first joined them. At first she hated the gifts because she refused to be a financial burden for the two who so graciously took her into their home. Edward caught wind of this and the two explained their financial situations in shocking detail. Both emphasizing there was absolutely no way she could be a burden. Then she hated them because the two were competing with each other to see who could give her the best gift. The last straw was the day she off handley thought how much she hated the shade of yellow in the kitchen. When she returned from hunting Edward had painted the entire room, and removed everything yellow from the house.

Edward found a loophole in “no-random-gifts'' quite quickly and started to celebrate every holiday known to man. When she received a new paint set for St. Patrick's Day Eve Eve Eve she had to revise her policy. Carlisle had found a different loophole, he would pretend like his gifts weren’t gifts. “ _Esme, I no longer have use for this, would you like it?_ ” When he used that excuse for a silk chemise his gig was up. He then started to simply sneak gifts into her room. Her broken hair comb would mysteriously be replaced by a new one. The torn blouses she had hung out to dry would somehow be accompanied by brand new ones when she went to fetch them. She finally accepted the two were always going to try to spoil her so she conceded. They, however, were on a strict budget.

As if he could read her mind, “I’ve been saving my gift allowance for a few months. Which you never said was against the rules! Plus, only one of them is really a gift.”

She glared up at him and shook her head; but, secretly she adored how excited he got when he was giving her a gift. His smile couldn’t possibly get any brighter and his eyes twinkled like the stars above them.

“I stopped by for a different reason but I saw this and thought of you.” He held the ring with a stone in one hand and showed it to her, he tucked the box back into his pocket. “It’s antique, according to the jeweler, but if you ask me it’s practically new.” He smiled.

“So it’s younger than you?” She asked with a grin.

“Much.” He laughed.

“It’s a beautiful stone.” She said as she gazed at the ring but didn’t dare to touch it.

“It’s a garnet.” He whispered as he watched the way her hand hovered over his own. “January’s birthstone.” He added.

He did not realize until after the fact but he assumed subconsciously it was the reason he gravitated to it. When he first saw it in the store he thought it resembled blood. He had smiled to himself imagining people fawning over the ring while he and Esme secretly knew what it meant. The untraditional ring representing their rather untraditional lives. Yet, as he watched Esme mourn he knew that was not the real reason he picked it.

He never met the little boy but that didn’t matter to him. He wished more than anything he could have saved her son. He would give anything to bring him back, but he couldn’t. So he thought about him, constantly. He knew he had no right to. He was terrified for the day Esme would find out he had taken such a fondness for her son. As soon as she told Carlisle about him he found his name popping up in every one of his prayers. When Esme took to gardening Carlisle bought carnations and snowdrops, January’s birth flower. He anonymously paid for the little boy’s headstone and visited every week. Made an effort to include him in conversations. Always said, “Esme’s three boys.” He even asked if he could frame one of the sketches Esme had drawn of Joseph. It hung in his office next to the portrait of their little family of three she had painted. He had timidly asked if Esme wanted to celebrate his birthday. So, of course, he picked a garnet without realizing.

She looked up at him, her hand remained over his.

“I had assumed it might be hard for you to leave him physically. I thought maybe it might be helpful to hold something of his close?” He was whispering so quietly she could barely hear him. She just gazed up at him, once again longing for tears. “I did not mean any offense.” He whispered, assuming her glassy eyes were not a sign of affection.

She shook her head, “Thank you.” She clutched her arms around him hoping to express her gratitude when words failed. His arms automatically wrapped around her, his hand forming a fist around the ring. She raised her head slightly to look up at him, “thank you. This is probably the most thoughtful gift I’ve ever gotten.” She rested her head back on his chest as she squeezed him tighter.

He rested his chin on the top of her head, as he whispered, “so I finally beat Edward?”

She pulled away as she laughed, “I should have known it’s always a competition with you two!”

“Really, I just wanted you to have it.” He smiled as he motioned for her hand. She placed her right hand in his. Both mentally noticing how they perfectly fit together. He slipped the ring on her finger, “the fact it’s the ‘ _best gift you’ve ever gotten and blows all of Edward’s lame gifts completely out of the water_ ,’ is just a plus.”

“I don’t believe she said that!” Edward challenged as he walked off the back porch. Both Esme and Carlisle had been so wrapped up in their proximity to each other; they failed to notice he had stopped playing piano and came to join them.

“Those are the precise words I heard.” Carlisle grinned, reluctantly letting go of Esme’s hand. Esme rolled her eyes at the two.

“I’m going to go for a run before we head out. Would either of you care to join me?” Edward asked, already making a b-line to the wilderness.

Esme shook her head. “No thank you. I’d just spend the whole drive reminiscing over what I’m missing.”

Carlisle chuckled, “I think I’ll stay, see you soon.” With that Edward was a blur and then gone.

Esme broke the silence, “what was the not-a-gift gift?”

“Hm?” Carlisle looked up from Esme’s hand he had been staring at, “oh! The other ring.” He fished the box out of his pocket. “Well, I believe it is still customary for brides to receive a ring as a gift?”

Esme did not know what she expected him to say about the other ring but it was not that. How quickly her joy was extinguished.

“Is it not?” Carlisle asked, worried that he had once again lost track of human trends.

“I guess it is, but I don’t believe that expectation is placed on fake grooms.” She said coldly.

She knew pretending to be his wife was going to be hard but she had silently hoped he would make it less painful. She had prayed that he would be uncomfortable with the ruse and simply be a husband in name, in public. They’d be introduced as Dr. and Mrs. Cullen and that would be it, a way to excuse a man and woman living together and nothing more. That he would be a dismal husband at best. Now here he was offering her a wedding ring?

“Oh humor me. I can’t have the town thinking my wife is anything less than adored, can I?” He asked her with a smile. When she didn’t respond he grew concerned. He was already anxious more than he thought possible and her silence was confirming his worst fears.

“Esme, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep.” She still wouldn’t look up at him, he tucked the ring back into the box and the box back into his pocket. “I am sorry, truly. I don’t know why I did. I’m-”

“Stop apologizing.” She said as she finally met his eyes.

“I’m so-”

“What did I just say?”

“Sor- I know, force of habit.” He raised both hands in surrender.

She smiled at him, weakly, “Carlisle, you don’t have to do this.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because,” she struggled to find the words. Struggled to articulate how her real, living, husband had never bothered to propose let alone give her a ring. How she had to use a ring she had bought at a rummage sale when she ran as a prop. That this, he, was everything she had ever dared to dream of and it was fake. Just out of arm’s reach, just like all her other dreams.

“I just can’t accept it, Carlisle.”

“Why not?” He asked, and in his eyes she thought she saw genuine hurt.

She wanted to tell him. That he hurt her beyond belief. That him saying the words ‘ _my wife_ ’ and meaning her. Him offering her a ring. The way he looked at her. All hurt more than he could ever understand. She wanted to tell him more than anything that she had dreamed of wearing his ring but not this way. The fact that she hurt him with her words hurt her even more. When he opened that ring box it killed her last small ounce of hope, that maybe he could possibly feel the same.

He saw this as a joke. The notion of him ever marrying her was hysterical to him while it was her deepest desire.

He saw her as a joke.

Edward had laughed about it when he suggested it but Edward knew how she felt. She wanted to scream from the rooftops how much she adored him and would until the end of time. But she didn’t and she couldn’t. She just shook her head and whispered, “It’s already too much of me to ask you to act out this charade, I can’t take any more.”

“But, I want you to have it.” He shook his head, reaching for the ring in his pocket again.

“But I don’t want it.” She said harshly.

For a brief second he looked at her like she had slapped him. “Oh. I see. I shouldn’t have assumed, I apologize.” He had lost all familiarity in his tone, he had become his formal rigid self she saw so rarely.

He knew why she didn’t want it. She saw this as nothing more than a charade. She assumed it was such a task for him to act in love with her because it was for her. At least she kept the garnet on her hand. Edward had warned him. Edward had told him not to do it. But, Edward had also told him to propose for real, so, which was it? Did Edward just want Esme to reject Carlisle once and for all and put an end to his constant monologue? Well here she was rejecting him and he was more in love with her than ever. It’s what he deserved. To be in love with the most incredible person that had ever lived and to spend forever knowing she would never reciprocate.

“Carlisle.” She reached out to touch his arm, he had already started backing away from her.

“No, Esme, it’s my fault and I should have known.” She was overly familiar with his self deprecation. His tone had quickly slipped into despair and while she didn’t know why she knew it was her fault.

“Known what?”

“What?”

“Why do you think I don’t want it? You say you should have known but what should have known?”

She didn’t know why she said that. She had been taught to never challenge a man. Learned the lesson the hard way. Yet, here she was. She recognized Carlisle had already begun to blame himself for whatever and she insisted on making him feel worse. Her whole body told her to bite her tongue and accept the stupid gift. To placate, to make him happy again. That was her job wasn’t it? Make others happy. But she persisted.

“That you wouldn’t want it?” Carlisle asked completely bewildered.

“Why not?”

“I… I… I don’t know.” He sighed and paused for a moment as he just stared at his hands. “Can I ask why?”

“You can ask anything.”

“Would you rather have teeth for fingernails or fingernails for teeth?” He smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. She smiled too, just as weak.

“Why don’t you want it, Esme?”

She considered the question and then shrugged, “I don’t know.”

He groaned at that, “You’re impossible!” He ran one hand through his hair.

“Impossible?” She chuckled in disbelief, she was being perfectly rational. He was the one being cruel. “I’m impossible?”

“Yes.” He laughed exasperated.

They sighed simultaneously, eyes fixed on anything but each other. Carlisle finally took in a deep breath. “I apologize, that was out of line, and apparently so was this.” He motioned to the ring. “I apologize. We don’t have to pretend like we’re,” he couldn’t bring himself to say the word, “it was wrong of me to ask you.”

Esme looked at his face, as best she could, he had turned away from her. He was angry. No, he was upset. There was a difference. She had only seen him angry once and this was not it. Still, making him upset not only broke her heart it made her uneasy. She knew he would never but his hands were balled in fists at his side and he had shut off all emotions. She had wrongly challenged him and she wanted to keep going. But, she had been here before and it never ended well.

“It just took me by surprise.” She said in her most placating voice. The overly rehearsed tone she had used to smooth things over for years.

“Esme, you don’t have to-” he interrupted, turning slightly towards her to dismiss her.

“Please, let me finish.” His hand motioned for her to keep going but his face was turned away from her still. She had adopted his formal tone. This was an arrangement of decency, nothing more. “I did not expect it, that is all. I am comfortable with our ruse as long as you are. The ring just took me by surprise. You know I don’t like gifts.”

“You accepted the other ring.” Carlisle said in a tone that was a mix of a pout and question.

“Would you like it back?” She questioned, hurt.

“No!” He finally turned back to her, “I want you to have it. I want you to have this one too.” He held the ring out to her again.

“For appearances’ sake?” She had not meant for the question to be so bold. She was not even sure she wanted to know the answer. Was the ring simply so Carlisle looked like a good husband or was there something more?

“Would you finally accept it if I said yes?” A non-answer Esme noted, she could work with a non-answer.

“Yes.”

“Then this is simply for appearances’ sake.” He resigned as he held the ring between his thumb and pointer finger and slowly made his way closer to her.

“How courteous.” She smiled, with none of the joy of their previous ring exchange.

“I am nothing if not a gentleman.” He smiled genuinely and she laughed. She hadn’t been afraid of him, not really, but it was remarkably easier to trust him when he was smiling.

“Now I believe there’s tradition to these kinds of things; but, I’ve only read about them. And you will be shocked to learn there are few books on vampires getting fake married. So I have had to improvise. It appears I can not ask your father for your hand or graciously deny your dowry. Instead, I asked Edward and he said fine. He then offered me five dollars which I took because he stole it from my wallet.”

She laughed, shaking her head, “you really are old.”

“What are dowries no longer in fashion?”

“I do not believe they are. Even if they were, I am an already married woman from a farming family.”

“You’re telling me I owe Edward five dollars?” He asked, faking shock.

“Call it rent.” She laughed.

“There’s an idea.”

“I just hope you won’t charge me the same rate.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He motioned for her hand again. “May I?”

“That’s your proposal?” She laughed in an effort to not be hurt by this whole scenario. “‘ _May I?’_ It’s a miracle you’re single.” She smiled sadly.

“Oh this is being judged? Give me a moment to think then!” He laughed but he had had his proposal to her planned for two years. He could not bear to waste it on a fake engagement though.

He thought for a moment and finally got down on a knee taking her hand in his. “Esme Platt,” he grinned. If he could make this funny he could get through it, he told himself. If he could laugh about it he wouldn’t break down.

“Carlisle Cullen.”

He laughed and rubbed his thumb over the top of her hand, “shh.”

“Oh I thought we were saying names, sorry, continue.” The way she beamed down at him made him think he could really do this.

“Esme Platt.” Esme looked around her; he scrunched his eyebrows at that, but the smile didn’t leave his face. “Will you make me the happiest man to ever …” he hadn’t thought this part through. ‘ _Live_ ’ didn’t work. Could you really call this existence ‘ _life_?’ But could you call it death? Although it really was not the time to get into a linguistic debate with himself.

“Be undead,” he said unsurely, “and be my vampire bride?” He grinned, this could be fun. This would be fun. This had to be fun. If he kept repeating it he’d soon believe it, right?

“I’d be delighted.” She smiled down at him. She was anything but delighted. Yet, the glee in his face was enough to convince her to say yes. She hated that she would never get to hear a real proposal from him. That she would only be his ‘vampire bride’ in appearances. Then he smiled up at her and laughed at her antics and she did not seem to mind. What they already had was enough. Yes, this whole thing would hurt but at the end of the day he would still be her friend. He would still be the one who made her laugh more than she ever had before. She would still get to see the impulsive twenty three year old he was at heart. She would still love him and he would love her, in a different way, but love nonetheless. That was enough, or at least that’s what she kept repeating as he slipped the ring on her finger. She watched as he adjusted the ring and then tenderly laid a kiss right above it.

“And they say chivalry is dead.” She laughed, but the way he treated her with such reverence almost left her speechless.

“Well the knee was my nod to knights.” He said as he stood up. He still held her hand and she unnecessarily offered her arm to pull him up.

“I assumed it had to do with prayer or you had to tie your shoe.”

“That’s better. When we tell this story let’s go with that.” He brushed the dirt off his one knee. His other hand still clutched hers.

“The shoe?”

“Yes, my shoe came untied and I figured while I was down there.” He said sarcastically as she pulled her hand from his.

She shook her head and looked down at the ring. “How’d you know my ring size?” She smiled as she asked. “I don’t even know that.”

“I stuffed one of your gloves for a rough measurement, which wasn’t accurate. But luckily I know what your hand feels like so I mostly went off that.” He said as if it was as obvious as the color of the sky.

She looked up at him with something of a mix between awe and adoration. “Can I keep it in the box?” She asked timidly.

“Of course.” Carlisle smiled as he held the ring box open for her. She only placed the gold band in it, he raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

“Do you mind if I keep this one on?”

“Please do. It’s yours.” He closed the ring box once again, but this time happy to do so.

“You bought it.”

He refrained from rolling his eyes. The two had fought about finances for years. She couldn’t accept that a gift was a gift with no expectations attached. She had sobbed the first time she tore one of her shirts. It was silly and endearing at first. Until he realized why she had such a fear of gifts then her reaction filled him with such anger. Not at her, never at her.

“For you, Esme. You can throw it in the ocean, wear it everyday, give it away, it’s yours.”

“Thank you.”

“Would you like the box or do you want me to hang on to it?” He asked offering her his elbow as they headed back into the house. He smiled as she wrapped her arm in his without a second thought.

“Can you hold it? You have pockets.”

“It’d be a pleasure.” He tucked it back into his coat pocket with his free hand. He watched her as she took in the empty house. Most of the furniture was to stay with the house but their belongings and a few choice pieces had already been shipped to their new home. It looked once again like the barren dungeon he and Edward lived in before her.

“It looks so empty.” She said as she unlinked her arm from his and took her familiar spot by the window.

“I didn’t realize how much has changed,” he responded as he followed close behind her.

“In a good way I hope?” She asked as she turned to look at him. Her hair swung as she turned and washed him over in the smell of roses and home. The moonlight was pouring through the picture window and causing the slightest of sparkles to bounce off her skin. Against the backdrop of darkness her golden eyes were like flickering candles, her caramel hair resembled dying embers. It was poetic how she lit up the night and his life. Before her he found such analogies trite but here she was and Shakespeare finally had a point.

“The best.” He said. She smiled up at him and wrapped her arm around his back, his found its place around her shoulders. He placed a kiss on the top of her head and the two stood in silence. Interrupted only by their beaming ‘son’ as he emerged from the forest. In the silence of the night Carlisle knew he really was the happiest man undead.


	3. nosferatu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> carlisle, esme, and edward make the move to their new home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy valentine's day, here's some angst!  
> content warning!! domestic abuse references and depiction of an anxiety/panic attack  
> ps. I realized after I wrote this Nosferatu was not released to US audiences until 1929, we're going to ignore that fact, or pretend like they snuck into Germany to watch the movie, either works :)

Night had wrapped her bony fingers around the small lake town. Bathing the landscape in her utterly consuming darkness. The sort of dark that overpowered all senses. It was impossible to know if you’re able to see until the ends of the earth or no farther than your eyelashes. Nature bowed in reverence to her. Flowers did not open, petrified of facing her rage. The humans had long tucked themselves in bed far away from the fright of the night. The last candles had been extinguished, begrudgingly welcoming her into their homes. The wind halted its incessant shriek to give way to her complete silence.

Her silence was pierced only by the low hum of the Ford barreling down a desolate road. She allowed the cacophonous whir to abuse her symphony. After all, it was the song of her paramours. The only ones brave enough to face her wrath, were the very ones she lived for, the ones she would never be cruel to. They welcomed her tranquility and company. In the light, they were forced to pretend. Day demanded they adopted a charade of humanity, of fear. Claimed they wept when Night came with her petrifying appearance. She bitterly allowed them to maintain these falsehoods. For she was the one who knew the truth. She offered them what they needed and for that, they would never leave her.  
They protested. They wished to abandon her. She heard their heartbreaking laments about damnation and the resentment which poisoned their words. They did not want to be hers; they longed to be anything but her ‘creatures of the night.’ But each night they returned to her and found themselves tangled in her silk sheets. She watched as they shamefully sustained themselves with the lives of others. They were monstrosities and she adored them. It broke her heart to watch them embrace Day with the admiration they denied her. But like every good mistress, she let them retreat to society, with great faith they would return.

So she watched in silence as the three made their way to another town, another charade, another attempt to fit into humanity. They fled the town but the destruction and pain they left in their wake was permanent. The lives they took would live with them, floating behind the escape car. The screams of defenseless mortals as they were slaughtered would live as long as the beasts did. Forever. She knew they could never be human when they destroyed them.

“B.” Esme guessed from the front seat.

“You have a head.” From the backseat, Edward drew a head in the air.

“L.”

“Body.”

“Is the word English?” Carlisle asked, as his eyes remained on the road.

“Don’t waste a question on that! Of course, it’s English,” Esme paused suddenly. Edward would switch languages in an attempt to outsmart them. She turned around in her seat to face the teenager who just grinned. “It’s English right?”

“Depends who you ask.”

“Ugh. That’s not fair.” Esme groaned, as she turned back around she brought her knees up to her chest.

“Can you specify the region the language is from?” Carlisle asked.

“Human.”

“I give up.” Esme pouted.

“You’re not dead yet!” Edward protested.

“No, God seems to be intent on refusing me that wish.”

“A.” Carlisle guessed.

“Seventh letter.”

“E.”

“Fifth.”

“I thought you said this wasn’t English.” Esme pointed out, as Carlisle continued to get letters.

“I said depending on who you ask, some would say it’s not a word at all,” Edward replied with his signature part grin, part grimace.

“I.”

“Leg!”

“O.”

“Second letter.”

“Would you care to guess? I’m running out of vowels and we’re running out of limbs.” Carlisle asked as he glanced over to Esme.

“We’ve gotten three out of nine?” Carlisle nodded.

“And we have three more chances.” He added.

“Or you die.” Edward leaned forward, poking his head between the two, and drew his finger across his neck.

Carlisle frowned at that. He enjoyed the game as long as he repressed the haunting images from his childhood. This was just a fun game with an unfortunate name. It was one of the few games Edward couldn’t cheat at. He could ignore the horrifying screams of the gallows that echoed in the recess of his mind. He was not the scared child forced by his father to watch executions. This was just a game. A game he was playing with a family who loved him. His eyes were not being forced open as his childhood friend was accused of witchcraft. He was not killing anyone. No one was dying. He did not kill —

“Nosferatu?” Esme suddenly leaning over him brought him back to reality. She was whispering in his ear, consulting with him before formally guessing. She was so close. Her breath wasn’t warm on his ear, that was impossible. The blush he felt was imaginary. Her hand was perched right next to his leg, holding herself up. Her fingers almost brushed his thigh, almost.  
The road was relatively straight, plus it was three in the morning, the risk of suddenly running into another driver was slim. Either way, he was willing to risk it to look at her. Her face was now mere inches away from his own. Her bright gold eyes level with his own. She had raised one eyebrow in question but still smiled at him. It was the smile he had nicknamed ‘his’ smile. Over the years he had started an extensive mental collection of her smiles.

When he first met her he was rendered speechless by her smile. It was nothing indecent, she was a child. But amidst remarkable pain, she still had one of the brightest smiles he had ever seen. With her wild dreams and hearty laugh he thought she was must be joy personified. He tried to convince himself it was only because she was juxtaposed by her two conservative parents. She was a bright personality at the end of a long shift. That’s why he caught himself feeling immense pride simply for making her laugh. The flutter he felt in his long-dead heart at her giggle that turned into a snort was nothing more than being charmed by the contradiction. To be safe he moved that very night.

Over the years he caught himself randomly thinking about her. He met a boisterous tutor in France and thought of her. He moved west for a little and found himself hoping the girl that had spoken with such reverence for the land had made it too. He unconsciously watched for her distinct hair when he traveled to big cities. He had met dozens of presidents, war generals, renowned academics and the freckled farm girl was the most ambitious of them all. She would achieve it all, he just knew it. She just had to. The world needed some joy. It was that smile, though, he remembered when he found her in the morgue. That two dimpled smile with a chipped lower canine made him do what he swore he would never again.

Since her change, he had yet to see _**that**_ smile. He knew there was a large chance he never would. The world had been so cruel to her. It was as if the Universe and Devil were in a battle to see who could crush her first. Neither won. She survived, with some help of the supernatural. She had endured more horrors than the doctor could fathom. The most creative and cruel author could not have penned her life. Yet, she was filled with just as much joy as the day he first met her. Grief, depression, anxiety, insecurities all accompanied the joy; but, there was not less joy because of their presence. If anything it made her joy more profound, a mature gratefulness for the good in life. She was the most profound proof of God he had ever seen. The unwavering dedication to compassion and goodness despite the resent and anger was nothing short of Masterful creation. She spoke of the life he damned her to with compassion and forgiveness. Could she truly be a force of evil? No. He could not even bring himself to think of the possibility. If she was able to accept in stride who was he to go against her? Was he in the place to try to add more cruelty to her world with his words? Is that what he wanted? No. It was one of the fundamental facts of life. The sun rises in the East and sets in the West. Plants need sunlight, soil, and water to survive. 2+2 is 4. Harming Esme was a sin unforgivable. Without his effort or acknowledgment, his mission became to see ‘ _that_ ’ smile. To fill her life with so much joy and glee she would once again smile with unadulterated bliss. On the way, he collected quite a few others, cataloging all of them as a diligent worshiper should.

There was the one he deemed ‘ _Edward’s’_ smile. It was a cheeky smile full of pride. One of a sister, best friend, and mother. It was usually accompanied with a shake of her head when his antics were particularly trying. That smile she reserved for Edward, hence the name.

There was the ‘ _I’m trying to convince you I’m alright_ ’ smile. He never rejoiced when he saw that one. She would give him a half-hearted smile in an attempt to distract him but it never worked. Her eyes were what gave her away. This life denied her tears but her eyes would get glassy as if she was on the verge of sobbing.

There was the “ _did you see that!?_ ” smile. This one was always followed by her laughter. Her eyes would squint and her head would whip back and forth from him to whatever that was she was trying to show him. The number of trees she just jumped over, the bear she took down, the chair she rebuilt.

Then there was ‘ _his_ ’ smile. It was remarkably close to “ _that_ ” smile but not quite. It was not one of unadulterated joy rather one of mature and deep understanding. It was a smile that said, “I know you and I’m happy to know you.” She only smiled at him like that. She smiled like that when he got home when she met him after a hunt, but only ever for him.  
That was the smile that decked her face four inches from his own.

He knew she was beautiful, he was far too aware of the fact for his own good. But now she was so close and it was undeniable. He had never been this close to her before. He had hugged her. Had clutched her to his chest many times. Had buried his face in her hair. But her face had never just been right there. He could just lean a mere inch and the gap would be —

“Is that your official guess?” Edward asked. Desperate to stop where he knew the thoughts were headed.

“No! That’s why I whispered it!” Esme said, still balanced precariously over him.“Carlisle?”

“Technically not a word, not technically English,” Carlisle said. “Perfect.”

“Nosferatu?” Esme asked as she slid away from Carlisle, reestablishing the space between them. He reluctantly directed his attention back to the road.

“Maybe I need to make this harder.”

“I barely got that one!”

A monstrous vampire that desires the fair innocent maiden unjustly claims her and ends up killing her and himself in his selfish desires. ‘ _Fitting_.’ Carlisle thought to himself.

“I hated that film,” Esme whispered as she stared out the window.

“Why?” Carlisle asked. He had his reservations about the picture but ‘hate’ was a word that Esme rarely used. He could only recall one other time she had used the word.

“But, it made being a vampire look so cool. The levitating! The fangs! The plague!” Edward chimed. He had seen the film fourteen times. Which was no easy task, he must have hunted more that week to withstand a theatre, than he had in his whole three years.

“So you’ve gotten over your pandemic aversion?” Carlisle asked.

“Cheap shot.”

“It was so gloomy. I mean if you choose to believe in mythical creatures why not make them ones you like?”

“I personally found it fascinating to see how human’s interpretations of us have changed over the years and how much has stayed the same.”

“Carlisle, you did not genuinely believe vampires could not live without their coffins of dirt!” Edward asked seeing the flashes of the sermons Carlisle was remembering.

“Humans believe a lot of weird things.” He said defensively.

“Speak for yourself.” Esme laughed.

“Wait, wait, wait. So when you were out vampire hunting you were looking for eight-foot-tall creatures who lived in castles and had buck teeth?”

“I didn’t say it was fully accurate.”

“Well that would have made your job easy, wouldn’t it? Find the guy carrying the inconspicuous coffin.” Esme asked with a grin.

“How did this become a pick on Carlisle hour?”

“We’re just teasing.” She reached out and touched his elbow, which earned her a smile.

“I want a castle. Can we get a castle?”

“Edward, that’s enough.” Esme chastised.

“Oh, come on, a castle would be so fun! There would be so many rooms you could decorate! Carlisle could store all his books in one place! I could dress in cool cloaks! We could lure people to our castle! We could even call ourselves Counts!”

“It really is not all that fun.” Carlisle refuted.

“Oh! That’s because you didn’t embrace it! If I got the chance to live with cool Italian dudes in a fancy castle and have all my meals brought to me I would never leave.”

“All your meals would be humans.” Esme pointed out.

“A price I’m willing to pay.” He said as he sunk into his seat.

That remark was a joke. Carlisle knew it was a joke but there must have been truth in it. He knew all too well how ecstatic Aro would be to welcome Edward. A mind reader with no limitations. He would be a priceless weapon. The boy he considered something of a son to him would be seen as a war strategy.

“You’re a pest has anyone ever told you that?” Esme asked as she shook her head with fondness.

“There’s a reason God wanted me dead but I’m Carlisle’s problem now.”

“This is the thanks I get for saving your life?”

“Save!” Edward sputtered with more than a hint of indignation.

Esme peered out the window, her arms wrapped around herself. Her forehead rested on the window and bounced slightly with the inconsistencies of the road. She closed her eyes and listened to the motor, to the crunch of the tires on the road, Carlisle’s breathing. Her two companions had gone quiet. Either having this fight telepathically, for her sake or opting out of the fight entirely. She hoped it was the latter. It was a battle the two had fought time and time again. The only time she had ever heard Carlisle raise his voice was in one of those debates with Edward.

* * *

_**July 1921:** _

  
It started as a meaningless complaint from Edward about having fur in all his food for the rest of eternity. Carlisle must have thought something that provoked a more serious disagreement because within minutes they had devolved into insults and vile attacks. Edward would respond to Carlisle’s thoughts, not allowing him time to articulate his thoughts reasonably. He would hear the rawest emotions of someone he looked up to greatly and rightfully have a visceral reaction. That particular fight exploded when Edward accused Carlisle of “ _trying to be God and ending up worse than Lucifer!_ ” and “ _intent on replicating the nine circles of hell!_ ” Esme had thought to herself what an eloquently worded insult it was. Before she could stew on the difference between a fight between two vampires, with self-loathing tendencies and deep faith, and the fights of her human life before ‘ _ **it**_ ’ happened.

She should have seen it coming. She had learned when people, particularly men, were about to explode. She knew better than to expect the best. Edward had been livid throughout their fight but had kept his voice at a normal volume, using Esme’s thoughts as a gauge. Because of this effort, she was able to stay in a relatively healthy headspace, focusing on how weird of a fight it was not that it was a fight. Carlisle, who had not spoken a verbal word the entire ordeal, ended this. He, at his wit's end, shouted at Edward. She didn’t even process what he said, but he shouted. She had never heard him yell before. Three seconds of not thinking were able to undo months of progress and recovery. Loosening his impeccable self-control for a fraction of time erased every effort he had ever made to make her feel safe, make her feel loved.

She was back in that old house with the creaky stair on the front porch that served as her warning alarm. The smell of home and old books was replaced with chewing tobacco and other women’s perfume. She wasn’t inhabiting an indestructible body she was the bruised woman, the one whose old injuries flared up in the rain. She could feel the knots in her shoulders from the stress, the cigarette burns on her arm, the ache in her left wrist that never seemed to recover. She was so tired, exhausted seemed like an understatement. She was begging, pleading, weeping, in a vain hope to stop the pain, just for a night. Which she knew wouldn’t work, she should know it wouldn’t work. But that was one of the things he always hated about her, she never learned. So it was his job to teach her.

It took thirty-four minutes for her to hear anything but his voice. For his grunts of displeasure or satisfaction to be replaced by the sound, she loved most. It came softly. She was still in that house, with that man, but she could hear the doctor’s voice faintly calling her name. Like in her dreams. The recurring one she would usually escape to after a particularly rough night. It called sweet affirmations and apologies but it was still distant. As if it was coming from a phonograph two rooms over. She could almost reach it but not quite. She was stuck shackled in her very real nightmare while her wildest dreams taunted her just beyond her grasp. She tried to ignore it, tried to will herself to sleep. But the sound kept getting louder and louder. The snores of her husband dimmed. His heavy arm draped across her stomach felt lighter. The pain in her bruises lessened. The scent of whiskey faded. Her sobs didn’t stop but she didn’t feel the tears on her face anymore. Then there was nothing.

Overwhelmingly nothing. She was not in her old house, not in her new house, she was in nothing. It was as if she didn’t exist. Just suspended in the overwhelming vastness. No future, no past, no nothing. No pearly gates or fiery pits, just emptiness. Just her and her thoughts. It was suffocating.  
When she finally tore her eyes open she still couldn’t see anything. But it was no longer just dark, it was shapes and blobs. Colored smears. Vaguely familiar elements, stuff she may have seen before, it was calming. She couldn’t breathe. She physically could not breathe. She kept trying, kept opening her mouth gasping for air, and nothing. She felt like she was drowning, again. Her hands clawed at her throat hoping to release whoever was holding her down. Except there was no hand grasping her throat. There was no reason she couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t see anything, she couldn’t hear anything, and she couldn’t breathe. She was dying. She was dying. She was dying? No. No, she wasn’t. She had done that before, that did not feel like this. That was quick, freeing. This was, this was, this was —

And she was back. Everything was clear, she could see. She could see too much, she could see the threads in her skirt, the dust particles in the air, she could see everything. It was more overwhelming than not being able to see. She clutched her eyes closed again.

“No, no. You’re alright! You’re good! Don’t do that! You’re ok!” He sounded distraught. She hadn’t even registered that he was there when she opened her eyes the first time. She opened her eyes again, slowly, wearily. She glanced around the room to find him. He was at the other side of the room, pressed flat to the wall. He had distanced himself as far as he could. Gave her as much space as possible, but he didn’t leave. He didn’t leave. She put on this pathetic display because someone shouted a little bit and he didn’t leave. He had no idea why she reacted so poorly to a mere disagreement and he didn’t leave. She still couldn’t breathe.

Her hands were back at her throat, gasping desperately. Her eyes were glued on his pleading with him to help her. She didn’t want to die. She didn’t really mean it. He slowly but urgently crossed over to her. He knelt in front of her. He raised both hands to show goodwill. The look in his eyes didn’t let her look away. She couldn’t look away. He wouldn’t let her look away. He whispered affirmations to her the whole time. “You’re alright. Everybody’s alright. Can you breathe for me? One.”

As he counted the breaths she was able to slow her own. She finally got a breath when he reached “six.” It was erratic but it was air. “Seven.” She could do this. She could breathe.  
At “twenty one” he reached his hand slowly up to her arm. He barely rested his fingers on her forearm, as if she could shatter. Her hand was still clutched around her throat. She hadn’t realized it was still there. She let him slowly guide it back down to her lap. His counting slowly died off, once her breathing was something resembling stable. They sat together in the silence of the office. She listened to the clock count the seconds, the owl that resided in the large oak, the faint rustle of leaves.

He listened to her: the soft scratch as she mindlessly picked at her cuticles, the tap of her big toe, her shaky breaths. His eyes didn’t leave hers, even when she broke his gaze and looked out the window. He watched her every movement. He had seen many panic attacks. As a doctor he had become well versed in hysteria; he knew all the proper clinical ways to console. But this was different.

He was terrified. He was helpless. The fear in her eyes was something he had never seen before. Correction, he had seen it before but that couldn’t possibly be the reason. Right? No. It was impossible. She was married when she was alive, he knew that. He had gathered from the people in town who knew her that her husband had died after the war. She was a widow when her son was born. When he found her she wore a wedding band that was too large for her. He remembered about two days after she woke up she took it off and never put it back on. She had not spoken about her husband. Never. Not once. Did he? Was she? Was that why? No! No. No, it was unthinkable. But that reaction.

“Esme.” He whispered, hoping not to startle her anymore.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I apologize.” The way she said it was rehearsed. In a voice that was not her own, it was softer, emphasized the ends of sentences. This was not the first time this had happened to her, that he was sure of.

“Are you alright?” She was still shaking. He was still kneeling in front of her while she sat on the couch. His left hand hovered her right hand on her lap.

“Yes, I’m sorry truly.” She closed the gaps between their hands and squeezed his with a weak smile.

“Please don’t apologize. I’m sorry I yelled.” He wanted nothing more than for her to stop apologizing. She had begged him not to hurt her. She had sobbed rocking back and forth. She thought he was going to kill her, her words. And now she was apologizing.

He wanted to know why. He knew why. The logical, rational, medical professional knew why. The man who still believed there was good in the world wouldn’t admit it until he heard her say it.

“It’s not your fault.”

“I shouldn’t have raised my voice.”

“It’s your house.”

“Our house. And it appears you do not like yelling.”

“No. I don’t like yelling.” She shook her head and the hair that had been thoroughly messed up earlier finally fell in her face. He rose to his knees and with his free hand tucked the hair behind her ear. She smiled at him. Just a joyless, grateful, closed mouth smile. He ran his thumb over her cheek and reluctantly drew his hand back. He sat back on his heels, his hand still tucked in hers.  
Her breathing had calmed and they sat in silence once again. He finally worked up the courage to ask what he did not want to know. “Esme?”

She just looked at him. Her eyes were still wide, dark with fear. But the expression was one of trust. “I guess you have a right to know after that.” She laughed, a sad airy laugh.

“You owe me nothing,” he placed his other hand on top of hers, “but, if you would like to tell me I would love to know.”

“I’ve been meaning to tell you, I have. I just…” she trailed off, finding it easier to tell him this when not looking at him. So she stared at their hands. “I know it’s wrong I lied to you this whole time. I just… I just didn’t want to change things.” She had lied to him for seven months. She knew he would look at her differently. That any small hope she had that he could ever love her would disappear when he learned how damaged she was. “I didn’t want you to think less of me. And if you want me to leave I … I understand.”

“Esme, I could never think less of you.”

“Because you already think so little.” It was a whisper so quiet he almost didn’t hear it. She didn’t mean to say it, it was sarcastic and bitter, and cruel. A sentence she had heard before and internalized.

“Because, my love and support of you are unconditional. Nothing is ever going to change that.” He took his hand off her hand, one still holding hers. He lightly redirected her chin so she could look at him. “And I will never, ever, ask you to leave. As long as I walk this planet yours I’ll be.”

She just stared at him. He was genuine. His promises were true. He did not say things because he was supposed to. He said them because he believed them. He meant it. She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. She had to tell him. When she opened her eyes she couldn’t meet his so she stared at his eyebrows.  
“I was, well am, I guess, married.” He just nodded. She assumed he knew this, but it was easier to start at knowns. It took her a while before she could continue and he just waited. Kneeling at her feet, patiently waiting for her next words. “We didn’t really… he wasn’t …”

How did you form that sentence? There weren’t powerful enough words to encapsulate what he was. There was little protocol when it came to telling someone this. With Edward it was easy, he saw it. He saw it and she begged him not to tell Carlisle. She learned to disguise her thoughts around him and kept Charles mostly to herself. Buried all her resentment and fear until the pressure got too grand and exploded, and now she was stuck trying to figure out how to explain.

“My husband was not the nicest man.” That was the understatement of the century; but, it was all she could manage. Carlisle was smart he would assume the rest.

“You mean he—?” He didn’t elaborate, he couldn’t physically bring himself to say the word. The world was swaying and there was a knot in his stomach.

He felt physically ill but not as much as when she said, “Yes.”

She couldn’t bring herself to tell him any more, and he was more than grateful to fill in the gaps himself. “Esme. I’m so sorry,” was all he was able to get out after a few moments. Sorry didn’t begin to cover it.

“It’s alright.”

“It’s not.” He practically growled.

He had never recalled ‘growling’ before. In fact, he had laughed at those who did. Had found it endearing when Edward had done it as a newborn. But he had never felt rage quite like this before. He wanted to kill somebody. He felt a sting through his veins. Could feel his fingers start to curl without his consent. His teeth gritted together as he pictured the fear in Esme’s eyes. Her whimpers. No, he didn’t want to kill somebody. He wanted to kill **him**. It would be fine. Justified even. It’s not like he was ‘ _the nicest man_ ’ after all. He deserved it. His lip almost curled in a snarl as he pictured what he could do. But Esme’s hand was still in his, softly trembling. She was very clearly not alright. She blamed herself. She took priority over any instinctual rage he had.

“Can I hug you?”

She mouthed ‘please’ but it got caught in a sob. She lunged forward as she wrapped her arms around his neck. She somehow ended up in his lap. He hugged her to his chest with one arm,  
drawing circles on her back, and held her head in his other hand. She had buried her face in the crook of his neck. Her nose unknowingly rested on one of his most horrific scars. They held each other wordlessly for hours. They finally separated when the rising sun bathed the room in a warm glow.

“I’m so sorry.” He said as she pulled back from him. They had landed in front of the couch so she did not have much space to move. His arms still wrapped around her, but he loosened, giving her the choice to go.

“Me too.”

“I’m sorry you felt like you had to hide this from me. I want you to feel like you're able to tell me anything.”

“I do.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really, no.” She fiddled with the buttons on his shirt.

“Ok.” He just stared at her. Her brow furrowed in concentration as she twisted the button back and forth. She was avoiding his gaze. The sun was still rising and cast a faint glow on her hair. Her caramel hair looked like it was flecked with gold in the soft dawn. When she looked up at him, fingers still focused on the button, he realized for the first time how young she was.  
She was physically three years older than him and emotionally she was wise beyond her years. Her face physically could pass for years older as well. She carried herself with a sense of timeless grace he often forgot her age. But here painted in soft oranges looking up at him she just looked young. Like a person who was forced at a very young age to grow up, to put on an act of maturity to survive, who was secretly terrified. It was the same look he saw in the mirror.

“Thank you, Carlisle.”

“Always.” He didn’t know why she was thanking him. What he was promising to do forever but he knew that he would do it willingly.

“Maybe your next job should be at an asylum.” She laughed. “You handle crazy well.”

“You’re not crazy.” She wouldn’t look at him. She had hoped he would just accept her joke. “Esme.” He rested his finger under her chin and guided her to look at him again.

“I feel it.”

“That doesn’t mean you are. It just means what’s true and how you feel aren’t matching right now, and that’s alright. It takes time, and in the meantime, I’ll be here to remind you of the truth.”

“Promise?”

“Only if you do the same for me.”

“Always.”

He smiled and lifted his pinky, motioning for her to do the same. He linked them and shook a promise.

She shook her head and laughed. “You’re a dork, I love you, Carlisle.” She smiled, words of affection between friends. She didn’t mean anything by it.

“I love you too, Esme.” He meant everything by it.

* * *

  
“Let me out,” Edward said suddenly. It pulled Esme back into consciousness. She wasn’t sure how long she had been ‘out’ but she didn’t recognize the road. It was still dark but they were now surrounded by trees.

“Carlisle.” He scolded.

“I’m pulling over!” He did as he said.

“Edward. I’m sorry…” Her thoughts were going a million miles a minute. This was her fault. It was so easy to provoke the boy, her painful memories were a guaranteed rage.

“It’s not your fault, Esme.” He kissed her temple as he slipped out of the backseat. “I promise.” He smiled at her but turned to stone when he caught Carlisle’s eye. “It’s trees for quite a ways. I’ll meet you guys when we run into a city. I just need to clear my head for a little bit.” He gave her one last smile and disappeared into the wilderness.

Carlisle and Esme stared at the horizon for a few moments before Carlisle pulled back onto the road. Esme kept her eyes on the trees for a while. She worried about the teenager, she knew she shouldn’t, but she couldn’t help it. He was so young. He was usually fairly carefree, humorous, charming even. But every so often he suddenly hated everyone and everything. She was the same when she was his age, to a lesser extent. She couldn’t imagine how hard it would be to be stuck like that for eternity.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He asked after a few minutes, breaking the silence.

“They cost a lot more than that.” She turned to smile at him.

“Forgive me, ma’am, I forget I’m in such refined company.”

“The finest.” She laughed, “I was thinking about Edward.”

“Oh. While he was here?” Was that why she apologized?

“No, no. I was thinking about much darker things then.”

“I don’t know, Edward’s pretty dark.” He smiled.

“Look who’s talking!” Her laughter felt like it bounced off the walls of the car.

“Who me? I’m the most positive person I know.”

“You must not know many people!”

“Do you need to talk about the much darker things?”

“No, I’m alright. I was thinking about the little vampire debate you two have.”

“That makes two of us.”

“Oh?”

“I may have gotten a little… what’s the word you used?”

“Preachy?”

“Yeah, preachy. He apparently didn’t take it well.”

“I can’t say I blame him.”

“You can’t?” He asked curiously. She rarely spoke so candidly, especially if it was negative.

“No. From what I see you’re tough on him, I can’t imagine being inside your head.”

“Well, when he acts like a child..” He was already defensive.

“Because he is one.”

“He’s an adult. He asks to be treated like an adult.”

“Because he’s seventeen, that’s what teenagers think they want.”

“He’s twenty-three.”

“By that standard, you’re two hundred and fifty-something.”

“I am.”

“So in comparison, he’s practically an infant.”

“Precisely, so he should listen to the person who has hundreds of years of experience.”

“Are those the words your father used or just the sentiments?” She said it so quickly he was sure she didn’t intend to say it at all.

“I beg your pardon.”

“Carlisle, when you were young. Did you disagree with your father? Did you interpret things differently than he did?” She knew he did. He had told her of his interpretations of holy texts, of mythical creatures, and the punishment he received for speaking his mind. “And did he let you disagree with him?”

“It’s not the same.”

“You’re right. You have the power to change it, you still have time to make your relationship different. You know better.”

“But he’s wrong.”

“So let him be wrong.”

“But I disagree with him.”

“So what? You love him, right?”

“Of course I do.”

“So let him think. Let him be wrong. You want him to be an adult? Give him time to make mistakes. Don’t throw him into the pulpit with your words and your God and expect him to be you. He’s not you. Just like you aren’t your father.”

“But what if—”

“If what? Carlisle, it’s not like he is thinking about going out and murdering people.”

“We don’t know what he’s thinking.”

“And that scares you?”

“Of course it does! So I try to protect him.”

“But he doesn’t need to be protected. He needs to fail. He needs to make mistakes and learn. You can’t just make his choices for him.”

“But what if he chooses wrong?”

“Then he chooses wrong. You love him all the same and you help him recover. You’re proud of him, not ashamed, because he chose for himself, even if it was the wrong one. But in the end, he will make the right choice and come back. But he can’t do that if he doesn’t know he’s welcome back.” It was precisely what he had done when she made the wrong choice.

Neither needed to say more than the veiled reference. Of course, Esme’s ‘mistake’ wasn’t a conscious choice but she knew the fear of Carlisle’s disapproval all too well. He was disappointed but understanding. He was proud she knew it was a mistake. He saw her mistake as much her fault as his own. He willingly helped her recover, supported her through the painstaking process of resisting temptation. After that incident, he was secretly glad that her choice to live the lifestyle he did was truly a choice. He hoped Edward would not need such drastic measures.  
He sat on that for a while. She was right, he knew she was right. But, relinquishing control was much easier said than done.

“What did I do before you?”

“I don’t know. Probably wander around the globe aimlessly trying to make friends.” They both laughed. They were able to disagree and still be friends, it was freeing. They were still sitting apart. He rested one hand on the steering wheel and the other by his thigh. Unconsciously keeping his hand where hers had been earlier. When he smiled at her she scooted closer to him so she could take his free hand in her own.

They sat side by side for the rest of the drive. Somehow finding an excuse to stay close the whole drive. She would close her eyes and rest her head on his shoulder as he spoke of ancient times. Or he would link their hands.

Three hours after Edward left the sun began to rise. The rays that peeked through the trees into the car reflected off their skin. Esme watched in awe as the ceiling of the automobile was speckled in light. She brought her hand up, she turned it slowly and watched as the light on the ceiling moved with her hand. Carlisle glanced over and chuckled at the childlike wonder on her face. She had been a vampire for two and half years and she was still amazed by the mythical elements of their life.  
“Oh, come on it’s cool!” Her tone was one of exasperation but she quickly laughed with him.

“I didn’t say anything.”

She lifted his arm up and slowly rolled up his sleeve, exposing his skin to the sun. “You’re honestly telling me you don’t think that’s at all neat?”

“I think it’s neat on you.”

“You’re the worst.” She said as she let his arm down. She returned his sleeve to the proper place. She was so careful with him, made a conscious effort to avoid the scars that decorated his arm. She rebuttoned the wrist agonizingly slow, with as much as tender care as she could. He couldn’t look away. He forgot he was driving, he forgot to breathe, he could only watch as she treated him with such reverence. When she was done his eyes lingered on their hands side by side. He glanced at the road, expecting to see a clear road and permission to return to gazing at her.  
“Jesus!” He shouted, his free arm shot in front of Esme, as he slammed on the brakes, probably a little too harshly.

In the middle of the road stood Edward, hunched over in hysterics. He had jumped from the trees above the road when Carlisle was distracted.

“Hello to you too!” He waved, still bent over in laughter. Esme laughed quietly and gave him a small wave.

“I could have killed somebody!” Carlisle said as he shook his head.

“It’s not my fault you weren’t watching the road!” Edward chuckled as he jogged to the car. He opened the passenger door and slid onto the bench seat next to Esme. “Now drive, somebody is coming!” Seconds after he said it, they saw the car enter the tunnel of trees.

“Feeling better?” Esme asked as she looked up at him. He was laughing again, that was a good sign.

“Much. I just needed a snack.”

“Elephant.” He smiled as he answered Esme’s unspoken question.

She wrinkled her nose at that. Mentally pitying the hypothetical elephant.

“You can’t be serious!”

“They’re very intelligent animals.” She defended.

“You pity the animals we kill now?”

‘ _Only the cute ones_.’ She thought.

“Because deer are real eyesores.”

“I try not to think about it. Unfortunately, rats aren’t sustainable.” She said with a frown. Which made the two boys laugh.

They spent the rest of the car ride playing more hangman, debating books they had read, and imagining what the new town would hold for them.  
They drove for almost two days, stopping occasionally to hunt and stretch their legs. Carlisle and Edward switched off driving while Esme took the responsibility of entertainment. They finally arrived at the new house in the late morning of the third day. The town did not really classify as a town. Just a few scattered houses as they trekked deeper into the wilderness. Their driveway went on for what seemed to be miles. The rock ‘road’ had clearly been neglected for years. They got halfway down the driveway when their path was blocked by a fallen tree. Edward gleefully jumped out of the car and chucked the trunk to the side in seconds. After an eight-minute drive, they finally reached the house.

It emerged from the clouds and trees and stunned the three into silence. It was a stone mansion that resembled a haunted castle more than a humble abode. There were two chimneys, both leaning in opposite directions. The front door used to be a set of antique French doors, but one was missing completely and the other’s windows were shattered. Half the windows were boarded up while the others were broken. The roof had a gaping hole while the porch had collapsed on itself.

The three were standing in front of the house looking up at it in all its glory in differing levels of shock. Edward started laughing hysterically. Esme couldn’t keep her eyes focused on one aspect, finding a new thing to focus on. Carlisle just kept looking at the house and back down to the real estate ad in his hands.

“Carlisle, when I said I wanted a castle I didn’t mean one already haunted!” Edward got out between laughs.

“‘ _A charming estate in need of a little love_.’ Well, I’d say they took some artistic liberties.” Carlisle read off the paper.

“I told you you should have seen it before you bought it!”

“I’m sure the inside is in better shape,” Carlisle said, mostly trying to convince himself.

Esme was still silent as she stared up at the house. Home wasn’t the right word, not yet. Once the initial shock wore off, she could picture the house in all its former glory. The doors refinished. The ivy reined in, tastefully scaling the walls not consuming them. The front yard would need to be weeded but she could already picture the flower beds bordering the house.

“Wait, that’s pretty!” Edward said when he saw her envision the trim work as a light grey-blue to compliment the stone.

She immediately blocked her thoughts, embarrassed she had let her mind wander that far. It was too late, Edward was fully invested in the vision and ignored her attempts to translate the _Hunchback of Notre Dame_ to Yiddish.

He bounded up the steps of the porch and stood in the doorway with his arms spread out, mimicking the missing door.

“Like this? Or would one big door look better?” He shouted down to her.

Carlisle, clueless as ever, was stuck trying to figure out what the two were discussing.

“Edward, it was just a silly thought!”

“Oh, you’re going to love this wallpaper, come on!” He yelled as he peered into the house, and quickly disappeared.

“I’m truly sorry, I didn’t think it would be in this state.” Carlisle mistook her silence for disapproval. She had every right to be upset half the house was technically outdoors.

“What are you talking about? It’s gorgeous. Well, it’s going to be gorgeous.”

“You think?”

She laughed, “I do. Plus, it’s not like the last house you lived in didn’t need work.”

“It wasn’t that bad!” It was indeed that bad.

“You bathed in the sink and kept your clothes in piles!”

“So you think you can fix this one?”

“It needs a little love, but yes.”

“Tell me what you’re seeing?”

She grabbed his hand and pulled him to the front door. Edward hung down from the second floor, popping his head through the hole in the ceiling. Then the three walked through the house together, listing the restoration needed, and imagining what the house would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, last chapter I said that I would make the chapters shorter and then made this chapter even longer for no reason. I'll try to get chapter four up quicker and not make it a behemoth to read. thank you all so much for reading, it means so much!!  
> tumblr: palmofafreezinghand


	4. an unexpected visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> carlisle and esme's charade is put to the test by an unexpected visitor or "castles, ghosts, vampires, and poison, oh my!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: domestic abuse & slight blood imagery (in context of vampires)   
> as always thank you so much for reading!! this little thing has been fun to write so I hope it's fun to read as well!

It had been over a month since the stone castle had first emerged from the clouds. The initial shock had worn off and the three vampires were settling into their new human facades. Carlisle spent most of his time acclimating to the new hospital. He found the medically complex cases he encountered a thrilling and welcome change in pace. He spent most free moments in his home office with his nose buried in old medial journals.

Edward was attending university, and found the challenge to his self control exhilarating. When he wasn’t at school he was hunting in order to return to school. He often lingered around campus just to spend more time around humans. He would stop by home for an hour or two in the early morning hours to change his clothes and say hello to Esme.

Esme on the other hand spent almost all her hours in their abandoned estate. She was fully dedicated to reviving the home. When she did dare wander into town she could be found in the architecture section of the library or on the first floor of City Hall. She studied the blueprints of the original house meticulously. She brought along her sketchbook and replicated the plans until she could draw them with her eyes closed. Once she befriended the original plans she studied the additions, the permits that had been approved but never fulfilled. She was desperate to figure out what the last renovator was thinking. Their additions would have been beautiful why did they abandon them so abruptly? Why was the planned sunroom left at only two walls? She had found most of the materials for the plans stowed away on the property like little treasures. There were rolls upon rolls of floral wallpaper stowed underneath the stairs. She was organizing the cellar one day when she found boxes of new hardwood flooring tucked in the ceiling. In a dilapidated storage shed she found an antique loveseat in perfect condition, tucked between two grand hutches and some farming equipment. The house was puzzling but she loved it. She was determined to pour in as much love and care as she could. Determined to make a home for the two she cared about, a silent act of gratitude.

She started her renovation with things she knew. She had become an expert at patching plaster in her human life and soon had the walls in their new house back in one piece. In their Ashland home she had learned how to refinish floors so she tackled the living room. She tore out the yellowing linoleum tiles to reveal solid redwood. She repainted all the walls, even the ones she knew would eventually have to be torn down. She managed to finish the tasks she was confident she could perfect in a week and three days. From the outside the house looked the same: leaning chimneys, a dilapidated front porch, boarded up windows. But inside it had taken shape, it was livable. Well, livable for three people who did not need to eat, sleep, or particularly mind a missing roof.

Once she had done everything she trusted herself to finish, she started to study. Edward would bring her textbooks on woodworking and restoration. Carlisle and she would take walks in the city’s neighborhoods so she could stop and sketch. She would ask what he liked, what he wasn’t a fan of, his ideas for their own home. One day she was found lying under the sofa just staring at the joints used, the type of lumber chosen, trying to figure out what made it structurally sound. The enthusiasm she had for the project bounced off the walls. Neither Carlisle or Edward were architects or structural engineers; regardless, they were desperate to help.

When the boys were home she put them to work, or at least she tried. She soon realized there were some things vampires could not do. Carlisle, with his compulsive precision, was horrendous at demolition. He made snails look fast as he pulled up the deck’s planks. It took him four whole days to sand down a single nightstand. Edward on the other hand was too impatient. He got competitive and ended up demoing things that were meant to stay. He rushed through painting, which resulted in drips and stains on the floor from his haphazard application. When they went off to their humans lives Esme ended up scurrying around correcting all of their mistakes. It was a nuisance but they were trying to help, it was endearing.

Until, the wallpaper incident. She knew it was a mistake as soon as Carlisle insisted on measuring the cups of paste and water to insure they had the ratio perfect. The whole ordeal resulted in a Carlisle shaped hole in the front wall, Edward being banished from the house completely for three days, and a week of silence. Now, her boys were her enthusiastic supporters, they offered her encouragement but stayed on the sidelines, and most importantly out of her way.

It was an early Spring day when the visitor arrived. The flowers had begun to bloom, the last snowfall had melted, but the sun still hid behind the clouds. Carlisle had a rare day off and Edward was off at school so he was keeping Esme company, not that he minded. He usually ended up finding his way to her whether Edward was home or not.

She had set up shop in the driveway, relishing the nice day. She had set up the remaining front door on two saw horses and a ten foot piece of oak beside it. The easy method would be to just replace the front doors completely. But, the original door was clearly a product of masterful craftsmanship. She could imagine the hours spent hand carving the details, the tree it once was, the lives this one door had lived. No, scraping it would be a crime. She was intent on making it a matching partner, no matter how painstaking the process was. The first step was to get the wood down to the same condition.

Carlisle had made his way to her, book in hand. He lounged under a tree a few feet away from her and began to read aloud. It was a new noir novel, a book he would never chose himself. But, she was an avid fan of the genre and he loved how she interrupted him and guessed the ending over and over again. Her eyes would light up and she would trip over her words trying to get out her first guess but by the time she finished her sentence she already had a different theory.

“It was the husband!” She shouted as he described a grizzly murder scene, she started to remove the door’s hardware.

“Do we even know if she’s married?” They were thirty whole words into the story, Carlisle wasn’t even sure if it was a murder yet.

“It’s _always_ the husband.” She whispered.

“” _The widow left behind no kin_.’” He read from the novel and raised an eyebrow at her.

“It could still be the husband.”

“Faked his death to murder his wife or ghost seeking revenge?” He laughed.

“You’ll regret that tone when I’m right.”

He smiled to himself and resumed reading. She soon began to strip the flaking green paint. It was a travesty someone had tried to suffocate the wood. She soon became lost in the task, as she listened to his honey voice and diligently worked. She had turned off the rest of the world, her supernatural abilities faded away. She didn’t hear the deer drinking from a brook a mile away, didn’t hear the bird’s feathers rustle as they took flight, didn’t take notice of the car tires crunch on the gravel driveway.  
In fact the two hadn’t realized the human paying them a visit until the car was parked in front of the house. Carlisle noticed a second after Esme, saw her posture stiffen, watched her sanding block drop to the ground.

“Are you alright?” He asked, after he spotted the car. He got to his feet at a human pace and made his way closer to her. He smiled to the nurse he recognized behind the wheel, but his voice was laced with worry. Unexpected visitors had not been received well before.

“I’m good.” She smiled up at him, “but stay close, please?”

“Of course.” His hand rested on the middle of her back and he waved to the head of nursing who stepped out of her automobile. She was an older woman, short and unassuming in appearance; but, in truth ran the hospital.

“Good afternoon, Dr. Cullen!”

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Michaels! What do I owe this surprise?”

“I’ve told you a million times, it’s Dolly!” She pulled a pie dish out of the car and closed the door. “Mrs. Michaels-“

“is your mother-in-law,” he repeated the sentiment he had heard many times before.

She closed the car door and finally looked at the scene in front of her. “Oh, you must be Mrs. Cullen!” She said as she took in Esme.

“Please, Annie.” Esme smiled at the woman and offered her hand. It was still too soon for her to freely go by Esme.

“I hope I’m not imposing too much. I just wanted to welcome you to town.” She said as she shook Esme’s hand and then passed over the pie.

Esme took the gift with a smile. “That’s so thoughtful, thank you!”

“I hope you enjoy cherry pie, to be honest it’s all I can make.”

“I completely understand. I think if I make mashed potatoes one more time this guy will leave me.” Esme laughed as she leaned into Carlisle’s side.

Carlisle chuckled in an attempt to hide his shock. He had never rehearsed with her what to say to appear human. They had been over the slow breathing, how to time your blinks, how to hunch slightly all to look human from afar. He had never really addressed what to do when one was standing right in front of you. He could almost taste the potato much he was allegedly living off of.  
She didn’t even seem to mind the smell of the revolting pastry as she said,“You’re too kind.”

“Oh Willam, you didn’t say she was so cute!”

Carlisle smiled at the fake name, it was his silent homage to Shakespeare. William and Anne. “I told you she was brilliant!”

‘ _Brilliant_.’ Esme repeated in her mind. Not only had he told his co-workers about her but he had called her _brilliant_. She could feel a phantom pulse in her ears as she daydreamed of him proudly gushing about her to his coworkers. He probably had that school boy grin he would get, the one where he would duck his head and tap his toes together to avoid attention.

Esme laughed, as she looked down at herself. She was covered in sawdust her hair pulled into a bun held together by a carpenter’s pencil. She wearing one of Carlisle’s old shirts from her newborn days. It was stained in paint and varnish, she had patched the elbows. Her pants were in the same state, a pair of his old work pants she had altered to fit but she still ended up tripping on the hems.

She mentally chided herself for daring to imagine his affections. This was not the appearance of a woman a sophisticated man like Carlisle called brilliant, willingly. It was clearly the most neutral word he had been able to find to answer some prying question one of his nosy coworkers had. Yes, that was the context, she was sure of it.

“Well, he didn’t say his co-workers were so lovely.”

“You have your husband’s flattery, I see.” The woman smiled, as the couple glanced at each other and shared a grin.

“Can I get you anything? Water or…” Esme paused and considered what else she had in the house, “well, I’m afraid I only have water.”

“No, no.” Dolly shook off the offer. She glanced down to the doors and back to Esme’s outfit,“Are you redoing these yourself?”

“She’s done most of this herself!” Carlisle said proudly, and gestured to the house behind them.

“Have you really?” Dolly asked, the infamous house seemed to be quite a project and not something most wives would embark on.

“It’s nothing much.” Esme looked to her feet.

“Would it be awfully improper to admit I came over to possibly sneak a tour?” Dolly stage whispered.

“Of course not!” Before she knew it Dolly had passed the pie over to Carlisle and linked her arm in Esme’s. “Now, it’s nowhere close to being done so you’ll have to use some imagination.”

“Then, I’ll just have to invite myself over when it is done, won’t I?”

Esme laughed as she lead the woman up the front stairs. Carlisle trailed behind them, she seemed to be doing fine. He trusted her, more than she trusted herself most times. Still, the house was closed up and Esme hadn’t hunted in a few days.

Esme walked her through all her plans for the house, and distracted Dolly from the run down bathrooms and kitchen she had yet to renovate.

“The whole town thinks this place is haunted.” Dolly said as they found themselves in the only finished room. The airy living room was full of white and florals, fit for a tea party not a seance.

“So it’s been abandoned for awhile now?”

“As long as I can remember. You know, when my husband and I were courting we tried sneaking in here. I had to help hoist him through a broken window. He was so scared I swear he about peed his pants when a bird flew from the rafters. And that’s when I knew, I was going to marry that wuss.”

Esme laughed at the older woman’s fond teasing. It was refreshing,“I haven’t seen any horrors, yet. Just Arthur.”

“Arthur?” Carlisle repeated from the doorway.

“Our ghost.” Esme nodded.

“We have a ghost?”

“Indeed.”

“Do tell!” Dolly said with a spark in her eye.

“He seems harmless, really. Just a knocked over book or a candle going out. One time my bedroom window flew open with no explanation,”

“May I introduce you to a little thing known as wind?” Carlisle asked as he waved his arms in a motion to convey wind and made a _whoosh_ sound. The two ladies walked out of the living room. Esme turned back to shoot him a glare which he responded too with a silent _whoosh_ and a movement that implied the wind was going to get her.

“Why do you call him, Arthur?” Dolly asked, fully invested in the story, missing the doctor’s charades.

“He only acts up when Edward plays Gilbert and Sullivan.” Esme said as if the reasoning was plain as day.

“You can not be serious. A ghost who only appears when he objects to the music playing?” Carlisle guffawed.

“When you say it like that, of course, it sounds silly!”

“Or could it possibly be is it is silly?” He grinned as Esme playfully whacked his arm.

“How long have you two been married?” Dolly asked as the two teased each other.

“A little over six months.” Esme said as Carlisle wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

“Newlyweds! It’s a wonder you come to work at all, doc!”

“Are you kidding? She can’t wait to get rid of me.” He teased, and squeezed his arm around her tighter, pulling her closer to him.

“He just gets in the way.” Esme said with humorous disdain and shrugged his arm off.

“So you send him to get in my way!”

“Well, yeah!” The three had moved to the front porch, which no longer had a gaping hole but was still missing its railing. Carlisle had nudged them along once he noticed Esme’s shoulders tighten as they toured the tight upstairs. She was doing wonderfully but he knew they should not tempt fate longer than necessary.

The visit was coming to a natural close. Dolly mentally noted the way Dr. Cullen watched his wife, the way his fingers tapped his leg, as if he was jealous someone else got her attention, even for a minute. At work he was stoic, aloof some said. He was an excellent surgeon, meticulous with his work. He could speak for hours on surgical practices or new academic studies but answered questions about his personal life with short sentences. Here, next to his beaming bride, he was a completely different man. He looked giddy, utterly joyful. She had assumed as much, with the hints he gave about his life. When he smiled his youth was remarkable. He could not have graduated medical school long ago. Hell, he didn’t look old enough to be in medical school at all.

“Well thank you so much for the tour. I better be going before it’s dark, unless I want to get lost in those trees of yours!”

“I’m sorry, I know it’s a treacherous drive.” Esme said as she walked Dolly to her car.

“Don’t mention it! Next time you just make the drive to me.” The two women laughed. Dolly rested her arm on Esme’s forearm,“I mean it come visit us anytime. The emergency ward isn’t as pretty but we’ve got a few ghosts!”

Esme couldn’t help but wrinkle her nose at the thought. Maintaining her thirst was doable when she was in open air, and constantly reminding herself how nice Dolly was. But if she started thinking about blood pooling, staining the starch white of the hospitals, the perfume waltzing through every room and wrapping her in its warm embrace -

“Blood makes her queazy.” Carlisle explained when he saw Esme’s disgust. A lie.

“I don’t know how you can stand it all day!” True.

“The paycheck.” Dolly said with feigned solemnity as she climbed into her car, which earned her a laugh from the couple.

“Thank you so much for the pie, Dolly.” Esme said as she held the door open.

“Of course! I hope it’s alright. Honestly, Jim would eat dirt if I said I made it.”

“You’re lucky, that’s better than most husbands.”

Carlisle raised a mental eyebrow at that. He could count the facts he knew about Esme’s first marriage on one hand, and squirreled away any tidbit of information he could get. ‘ _Didn’t like her cooking.’_ Fact five.

“He’s the lucky one!”

Esme nodded, “Thank you again, it was a pleasure to meet you!”

“You too, sweetheart. I’ll have to have you two over soon.” She glanced out the windshield to Carlisle, “I’m going, I’m going, she’s all yours!” She raised one hand in appeasement and with the other closed her car door.

Carlisle smiled at that, despite not fully understanding what she meant. Ironically, Esme had already made her way back to his side, her arm looped around his waist and his squeezed his shoulders. The two waved until they could no longer spot the car.

They still were wrapped in each others, waiting for the other to break the embrace.

“Hi.” Esme whispered after a few minutes. She smiled as she turned to look up at him.

“Hi.” He said as he mirrored her. They were standing face to face, his arms still wrapped around her. She gazed up at him like he was one of her paintings, silent admiration. Her wide eyes were dark. The deep brown color they reached before she would need to hunt but not quite the rich black of true need.

“I did it.” She said with quiet astonishment.

“You did!” He beamed down at her as he tried to tuck a strand of hair back in her bun.

“Do you think we could hunt?” She asked after a moment.

“Of course, do you need to change?” She had improved in her technique but still lost a few garments to spilled meals.

“No,” she laughed, and broke away from his embrace. “I think this can handle a little blood.”

“You’re telling me that’s not your Saturday finest?” He laughed as she broke into a run, darting between the trees.

Esme’s laugh carried through the forest to where he trailed behind her.

He watched from a distance as her carefree gaunt turned into a determined creep. He found watching her hunt utterly fascinating. She used silence as her weapon. She would leap from the tree branches barely making a sound as she stalked her prey. He would often follow behind, far enough that he didn’t scare away her target. He would track her, often losing her for thirty seconds before she would appear six trees ahead. She would then jump to the ground and be drinking within seconds.

Once she had her thirst under control, and hunts were less of a feral frenzy, she went for the old and sluggish. She purposefully picked off the one’s with limps, with slow heart rates, it seemed her favorite meals were already knocking on Death’s door. It was heart wrenching to watch, a clear sign of guilt.

“Just going to watch?” She asked as she started to cover the drained corpse in foliage.

“I went after work last night.”

“Hm.” She grunted as she wiped the dirt off her knees.

“It’s a matter of-“

“Time and practice and not a judgement of my control,” she interrupted him, “I know.”

It was a conversation they had had many times. Esme would get frustrated she was the only one who had to hunt so frequently to subdue her thirst. She saw her every two days routine as a personal failure, especially when compared to Carlisle’s need to hunt once a week or two. She would try to maximize the time between meals, seeing if she could go just one more day. This in turn made her thirst worst, the floor would start to give out and she’d lose rational judgement. Her other senses would be weakened and the only thing that mattered was her need. The first time she ‘slipped,' as Carlisle called it, she was in one of these ‘trials.’

“I’m proud of you.” He said as he helped her up with arm, an unnecessary gesture but one he insisted on. “You did great today.”

“Thank you.” She whispered.

The two walked, side by side, at a human pace back to their home. The sun had managed to peak its way through the clouds and trees, light speckled their path.

“You don’t believe in ghosts.” She said after twenty minutes of comfortable silence. He found her voice was like to listening to a cello in a rainstorm. The deep timbre blending with the elements around her to create a smooth symphony.

“I don’t believe in them in the commercial sense per se. I can believe there’s a possible overlap in the physical and spiritual world. In floating apparitions down long hallways? I can’t say that seems probable. You believe in them though?”

“I am open to the possibility. I’m open to most possibilities nowadays.” She said wistfully, she was a few steps ahead of him now.

“Oh?”

“I mean vampires make no sense but here we are. Why not ghosts?” She looked back to him and waited for him to catch up.

“I see your point.”

“I mean if we think about it you could be a ghost,” she said as started to walk, once he finally joined her.

“Me?” He pointed to himself with wide eyes.

She nodded, “just a little figment of my imagination.”

“I assure you I’m not a ghost,” he said diplomatically.

“That’s exactly what a ghost would say!”

“Hm,” he muttered before he countered, “how do we know you’re not the ghost?”

“I would haunt much more interesting people,” she nudged him with her elbow.

“You wound me,” he clutched his hands to his chest as he comically fell to the ground, exaggerating the impact of her elbow.

“You know, I don’t think I could imagine you,” she laughed as she offered him help up.

“No?” He joked.

Her face sobered and she said with absolute sincerity, “no, I couldn’t make something so wonderful.”

He tried to respond but the lump in his throat squelched any attempt. Instead he just smiled back at her and kept her hand clutched in his own.

They continued down their makeshift path, fingers intertwined, and both dizzy with racing thoughts and hearts.

“Growing up my mother thought our house was haunted,” Esme finally said, desperate to quench the whirlwind of internal monologue.

She couldn’t stop the constant replay of how touched he looked by her simple declaration, how he had looked at her for the past hour, how at ease he seemed with her near him. Her mind grasping to pieces of his existence as an attempt to prove her wildest dreams. She knew if she kept continued down the path she was on she would, against her best judgement, start to believe. The fraction of her mind that clutched onto her last shred of hope would turn into a consuming wildfire and she would be irredeemable.

No. She would not do that, not again. They were friends, best of friends and nothing more. She could yearn from afar but to move too close would scorch her. So she redirected the conversation to ghosts, yes ghosts were safe. No one revealed years of unrequited devotion over the topic of ghosts, right?

“Really?” Belief in the paranormal did not fit the picture Esme had painted of Mrs. Platt.

“Utterly convinced of it, for years. My dad didn’t believe it really but he never really said anything.”

“Did you believe it?”

“When I was young I did. I tried to do everything right so I wouldn’t make the ghosts mad. But then as a teenager everything the ghost did had a reasonable explanation. My mom was sad because the ghost was messing with her. The crops weren’t doing well that year because of spiritual interference. I think it was just her way of making herself feel better.” She sighed.

“You don’t talk about your parents much.” Carlisle observed after a few silent moments.

“There’s not much to talk about.”

“You don’t remember them?”

Edward had told Carlisle her memories were fading, had confessed in a whisper about how scared she was of forgetting her family, her friends, her life. Ever since they had been nudging her to share her stories, hoping if she vocalized the memories they’d last.

“I remember them; but, there’s nothing really to remember. They were parents, not good not bad. I don’t know, we weren’t very close.” She shrugged and pulled her hand from his. He watched as her arms wrapped around herself defensively.

“Do you miss them?”

“Of course, but that started before I died.”

Carlisle sighed at that last word. The mental picture he kept stowed away of her lifeless body was enough, to hear her say the word was physically painful.

“In what way?”

“We hadn’t talked for, I don’t know, I think five years or so before I ya know.” She waved her hand instead of saying the word, for his sake.

“Why not?”

She paused for a moment and considered whether to lie. After a minute, with her eyes focused on a tree over his shoulder she took a breath and quickly said, “I told them about Charles. I showed them my broken ribs and begged them for help. I didn’t tell them everything but they told me it was my fault. All marriages had issues. This was my husband and I needed to support him no matter what. That if I tried to be a better wife then he would be a better husband.”

“Esme,” he whispered as he reached out a hand to her arm but pulled it back at the last moment.

“They ended up telling Charles and he was livid, of course. Forbade me from ever seeing them by myself that I could only visit them if he came along. He didn’t like them so we never really saw them after that; and, honestly I had little desire to see them. When I got pregnant I knew they wouldn’t help so I didn’t bother asking I just ran.” Her tone was as if she was reading from a novel not recounting absolute negligence and indifference she had suffered.

“It was not your fault.” He reached his hand back out but this time brushed her arm.

“I wasn’t a perfect wife.”

“It doesn’t matter. It was not your fault. They should have helped you. You deserved help.” His eyes had gone dark, his voice drenched in passion. He was not yelling, in fact he was speaking quite quietly, but she had never heard him so intense.

“I understand why they did it, though. Really, it’s alright.”

“Esme, it isn’t.”

“Can we drop it?” She had stopped walking and her eyes were practically begging him to do as she said.

He wanted to protest. He wanted to make sure she knew that what she just described was inexcusable, and absolutely not her fault.

“Of course, I’m sorry.” He brought his hands up in surrender and followed her lead when she began to walk again.

He begrudgingly added to his mental fact sheet of Charles Evenson. ‘ _Fact six. A complete and utter piece of scum_.’ He mentally laughed, ‘ _no, that was fact one_.’

“I think the neighbor did it,” she said in an attempt to break the tension rising between them.

“What?”

“Our book. The neighbor who said he was getting the mail, I think he did it.”

“But didn’t he say he thought she was nice, that he liked her?”

“Well of course you tell the police that! What’s he supposed to say, ’ _Why yes Officer, that woman who was stabbed twenty seven times she was a real nag. Just hated her guts, wish I would have stabbed her myself_.’” She had curled her face into an impression of the old man.

His laughter echoed off the trees as she impersonated a man with a back problem attempting to stab someone but wound up pulling a muscle instead.

They joked the rest of the walk home, collaborating on the plot of the murder novel they had been dreaming up.

Edward had returned home from school while they were gone. He was sitting on the creaky porch swing, waiting for the two to return. He could hear their jovial banter before he could see them, their laughs piercing the silence of isolation. He watched them emerge from the forest, practically arm in arm, both too entrenched in each other to notice his presence. The two practically radiated euphoria as they debated their poison of choice.

“Arsenic is so last century.” Edward called.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell him! I think fertilizer would much more creative.” Esme beamed, as her pace quickened.

“Predictable though,” Edward countered.

“Thank you.” Carlisle boasted as he gathered the book he had abandoned under the tree.

“I hear congratulations are in order.”

“Oh?” Esme asked as she took the porch steps two at a time.

“I passed Nurse Micheals as she was leaving, nothing but complimentary thoughts. Firmly believed you two were married and more importantly human. A little odd but human, nonetheless.”

“Odd. How so?” Carlisle asked, puzzled.

“We’re missing half a roof. We live in the middle of nowhere. We’re cold to the touch. Shall I go on?” Esme listed off without hesitation.

“You mean to say it wasn’t the ghost named after opera composers?” Carlisle teased as he joined Esme and Edward.

“That’s not odd that’s clever!”

Edward just laughed to himself as the two bickered. “She actually thought you two acted much more like an old married couple than honeymooners.”  
In response, they both titled their heads to the left at that and raised opposite eyebrows, it took all of Edward’s will power to not point it out.

“That’s not a bad thing, right?” Carlisle asked.

“No, I just found it interesting.” Edward said with a tone that earned him mental admonishments from both parties.

“Well then. Well done, Dr. Cullen.” Esme held her hand out to him.

“And to you as well, Ms. Platt.” He shook her hand with a grin and pantomimed opening the front door for her. She laughed and entered through the gaping threshold, her besotted doctor close behind.

Edward shook his head as he headed into the house, the two would need more help than he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the amount of research i did about judaism's stance on ghosts to then realize they're vampires we're not really going for realism is comedy gold. thank you again for reading!


	5. it's a date!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> esme and carlisle's first date, kind of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so so so much for reading this silly little thing (can I still call it that at over 30,000 words?) i've written it truly means so much! i hope you enjoy!

Edward had settled in for the morning at the dining room table. The room’s wallpaper was faded and flaking off the walls leaving a faint stench of old wallpaper paste and mildew in the dank room. Esme had yet to decide how to renovate the space, puzzled at what the small of group of three who never ate would do with a grand dining room that could easily sit sixteen. So the room sat virtually untouched by the artist. At the table there were three chairs, two still covered in sheets, and one creaky close to destruction. The wobbly table with a splintering top was Edward’s solace, his coursework was spread across the table in disarray. With no windows and Esme yet to wire the room, when the door was closed the room was pitch black. He had to rely on supernatural abilities to see but it was the closest he was able to get to sleep; or at least what he remembered sleep to be like.

The room reminded him of the three years before _her_. It was a portal to the old world, a taste of the homes the two men had made. She called the Ashland house a ‘hovel,’ a ‘dungeon’ he would hear her think to herself as she hung curtains or installed lights. To him it was home. Home without the societal expectations of his human life. Home with no pressure of the human facades he had to put on in public. A place where he could simply be.

If she thought Ashland was bad she would have hated Chicago. They kept their books in stacks on the ground, some piles centimeters from the roof. There were piles of Edward’s recommendations, Carlisle’s must reads, books and plays they had read together, books they hated. Everything had its place. The objects found their place amidst the chaos just as the two of them had. Their main source of lighting was candles, and that was fine by him, it reminded him of Carlisle. Carlisle had referred to the little sticks of wax as his friends when he had none. In the middle of a ‘dungeon’ that smelled like old tobacco, left over from the previous tenant, and aging paper, he learned how to live. The decrepit dining room in this new home made him feel, if even for a fleeting second, like he was back there. That he was back in a world where he was needed completely.

Edward was the companion Carlisle had prayed and hoped for for over two hundred years. Edward was the one person he decided to pour all his faith and dreams into. Carlisle became the role model and confidant Edward had dreamed of his whole life. The two completed each other, or at least Edward thought they did. But here he was five years later, in a dreary dining room diving into nostalgia as the man he so desperately missed was in the very next room. He could hear Carlisle’s low laugh through the thin walls, the soft clink of chess pieces; but, the thoughts of a mind he had grown so comfortable occupying blocked him out.

Carlisle was happy. He had moments of self loathing and utter despair, those familiar compulsions laid under the surface of his very being; but, he was happy. Edward was surprised to realize how happy that fact made him. He idolized this man, worshipped the ground he walked on, and practically devoted his life to him, of course his own happiness lie within his. But Edward hadn’t caused Carlisle’s recent joy. The new tone of his thoughts, the new mission to be a better man, a deserving man. That was not a product of him, that was a product of _her_.

Edward loved Esme, he knew that. She was one of the single best people he had ever met. She was nothing but kind to him, helped him, advocated for him, respected him. He missed her during his days at school, purposefully sought out her company when he was home, being around her was joyful. He considered her one of his two best friends. He couldn’t imagine a world without her, except there was a world without her. It was one where he was the only person who mattered, the one where it was two bachelors against the world, the world where the two found solace in each other and nothing else. The one where he was what mattered most to Carlisle. Now she did. He knew Carlisle loved them both. He knew if he simply voiced his insecurities to Carlisle he would be reassured, they could have a mature discussion about their evolving relationship. He knew that his love for him had not lessened because of this woman’s presence, but it was different. If Edward said he disapproved of the relationship he was sure Carlisle would never act on his own feelings. But, he approved wholeheartedly. The two deserved each other, they fit together so perfectly. Esme’s presence in their lives was a blessing.

To see someone embrace their world fully was transformative for both men. She had every reason to despise life, their nature, to resent Carlisle after his decision but she did not. She accepted the new life in stride, with hope, and love. She found joy and peace in the supernatural. She gave them hope. Edward and Carlisle had taught each other how to love, how to live with another person, how to bear one’s soul to another. Esme convinced them they were deserving of that unconditional devotion.

Edward knew their feelings were requited, that if they could simply get out of their own way they would be married in a month, but he also knew the obstacles they faced were not ones that could simply be pushed aside. While Esme’s existence had done wonders for Carlisle’s belief in goodness she had wreaked havoc on his sanity. He was almost swept over by guilt any time he thought of how much he cared for her. He had been alone for so long he spent most of his time terrified he would come home day and he would be alone once again. He was in a constant battle between feeling guilty for caring for her and being petrified he cared for anyone.

She on the other hand had such deep rooted insecurities she was convinced they were going to ask her to move out at any moment. She held the doctor on a pedestal of goodness, not that Edward had much room to judge, and saw herself as his antithesis not a potential partner.

Edward was sure if the two could try to be honest with another they would be able to solve their issues, together. He had tried for two years to gently nudge them, encouraged them politely to confide in one another, to just take a risk, to no avail. Their thoughts worsened by the day, and their relationship was building on false notions of inadequacy. So the time had come for the mind reader to put his power to use and employ less discreet methods. To be honest, he thought the first time they pretended to be married in public Esme would finally cave. From their thoughts after the visit with Mrs. Dolly Michaels, bless the woman, he could see Carlisle was in fact the one closer to breaking. Esme had already spent most of her adult life pretending to be in happy marriage so the charade had little effect on her. So, the repressed preacher’s son was going to have to be the one to make the first move? Fantastic. Improbable but not impossible. So, like Paris with his bow Edward reevaluated his plan, and targeted the doctor’s heel.

He left his paper on the dining room table, trusting Esme would not dare wander in to find his mad man plans. He made his way through the house as stealthily as he could, ending up in front of the doctor’s study.

Scattered candles washed the room in a hazy glow, the fireplace illuminated the north wall. Spines of books highlighted in a soft orange. The nice weather of the day prior had been replaced by heavy clouds and intermediate drizzle overnight. Edward crept into the room without a sound, he made his way over to the large desk before he whispered, “Carlisle, can you do me a favor?”

 _‘I’m quite busy today, Edward, I’m not sure,’_ Carlisle thought as he turned to the next page of his fictional novel. In reality he had no plans but had little interest in helping Edward.

“It’s for Esme,” Edward sang, it was a lie but he knew it would entice him nonetheless.

_‘Then of course, what does she need?’_

“She keeps thinking about a book she saw in the bookstore window last week, and we both know she won’t ever ask for it.” Edward leaned against the edge of Carlisle’s desk, keeping his voice low enough so Esme couldn't overhear.

“Heaven forbid,” he laughed, “I will pick it up.”

“Actually, I was thinking you could take her with you,” he picked up one of the pens on Carlisle’s desk, and absent mindlessly twisted the cap back and forth.

 _‘With me?’_ Carlisle thought as he finally looked up to Edward, eyes wide.

“Yes.”

 _‘To town?’_ His face had the shock of a common man asked to perform an execution.

“Her control is fine.”

 _‘I know that. In town we’re supposed to be married,’_ he thought to himself.

“Yes, we’re also supposed to be human, is this a problem?”

_‘Will you be coming with?’_

“No, I don’t need to, you’ll be fine.”

_‘I have work tonight.’_

“We’ll trade off after I get done with class.”

_‘So just us, in town, together?’_

“Yes.”

_‘Her and me, alone, together.’_

“What is so hard about this? You spend all your time with her already.”

“Nothing, nothing. Of course, I’ll ask her,” Carlisle said as he closed his book.

“Ask her what?” Esme asked as she stepped into the doorway.

“Esme!” Carlisle exclaimed as the closed book clattered to the ground.

“Carlisle!”

“Edward!” Edward said just as enthusiastically as he turned to face Esme. When the two looked to him he shrugged,“I like to be included you know.”

“I was planning on heading into town today would you care to join me?”

“Tonight? Of course, that sounds lovely,” his eyes tracked her as she made her way over to the grand fireplace and placed a new vase of wildflowers on the mantle. She fluffed them, taking care to arrange the stems to lay perfect.

“I was thinking more this afternoon.”

“This afternoon?” She asked absentmindedly as she smelled the bouquet. It was rare for the youngest member of the family to venture to town when it was occupied by humans.

“Yes, I figured we could stop at the bookstore, they just received a shipment of new releases.”

“You think I’m ready for that?” Her head jerked up from the flowers to finally face the two across the room.

“I do,” Edward said, “It’s raining so no one will be out; plus you did very well yesterday and you hunted last night. You’ll be fine.”

“Carlisle?”

“I agree completely,” Carlisle nodded as he leaned back in his chair.

“I’m not sure.”

“There’s no way to know unless you try,” Carlisle added.

“Well, that’s an awfully risky game isn’t it?”

“Carlisle will be with you the whole time,” Edward assured her as he wrapped an arm around Carlisle’s shoulder.

“Right by your side,” Carlisle nodded.

“Ready to pin you if necessary.” The images both Carlisle and Esme dreamed up at that sentence made Edward regret it at once.

“So it’s settled,” he cleared his throat, “we’ll all go into town together I’ll go to class, you and Carlisle will explore, then I’ll pick you up before his shift.”

“Fantastic,” Esme looked down at her attire, frowning at the bloodied house dress, “can I change first?”

“Will twenty minutes be enough time?”

She glanced at the clock above his desk, “see you in the foyer at half past.”

“It’s a date,” Carlisle smiled. _‘Not a date.’_

 _‘Yes, a date,’_ Edward thought as he bounded up the stairs to get changed.

Precisely eighteen minutes later Carlisle watched as Esme glided down the stairs. She had chosen one of her spring outfits, a light pink blouse, the ones with a bow collar. Delicate lace trimmed the edges of the collar and the front of the blouse. She had paired it with a light blue skirt. The hem hung just below her knee. The light colors only accentuated her pale features.

“You’re going to freeze to death,” Carlisle called as he opened the coat closet and hovered a hand over her coats, he decided the dark blue one would compliment her outfit best. He replaced the hanger back in the closet and opened the coat for her.

“Good thing, I’m already dead,” she joked as she reached to take the coat but it remained in his hands.

He silently motioned for her to turn as he held the coat open for her. She tucked her arms into the sleeves and he rested the coat on her shoulders. With his hand lightly placed on her waist he turned her to face him and buttoned it for her. His hands lingered at the top button. His thumb ran over the soft fur on her lapel. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He cleared his throat and diverted his gaze from her own. Appalled by his own boldness he managed to mutter, “of course.” He reached back into the closet for his own coat but stopped when she took the wool coat from his hands.

He raised an eyebrow as he turned back to her, “I have to return the favor.”

He turned and bent his knees so he could slip into the coat held at such a low height. She rested a soft hand on his bicep and turned him to face her, her fingers resting over a particularly nasty scar. He had not realized she even touched the spot until her hand had retreated. He found himself leaning into her next touch, not withdrawing from the connection as he did whenever someone brushed against the scars. She buttoned the four buttons at an agonizingly slow rate, and smoothed down the lapel when she was done. Her hand lingered over his chest, her right hand rested over his heart. The delicate gold band on her ring finger reflected the candle light. For once in his life he was thankful for his immortality, sure if his heart had the ability to beat it would spring right out of his chest. She noticed his crooked tie and brought her hand off his chest to fix the knot.

“We’re matching,” Esme whispered as she moved to straighten his scarf under his coat. He was transfixed by her concentration, the slight furrow of her brow, the care she put into her movements.

“We’re?” He looked down at himself to see they were indeed matching. Their coats were the same navy wool, hers trimmed with brown fur the color matched his scarf. His pink patterned tie was a shade darker than her blouse. “Look at us, we are,” he meant to move away from her but instead rested his hands on either side of her waist.

“I need my hat,” she breathed, leaning into his touch.

“Me too,” he said dreamily, not processing the words she said.

“No, I need my hat,” she smiled.

“Oh. Oh! Of course,” he stumbled and turned back to the closet and grabbed a dark blue hat off one of the hooks on the door. He smoothed down her updo before he placed the hat on her head, straightening it so it lay right. He took her chin with thumb and titled her head, analyzing the fit. “Perfect,” he whispered, his thumb still rested on her chin.

Edward’s heavy footfalls down the stairs broke the two from the spell of each other. They both stepped away from each, hastily pulling their hands to themselves.

“Ready?” He asked as he bounced between the two and grabbed his own coat and hat from the closet.

 _‘I wish you would comb your hair,’_ Esme thought as she saw the haphazard way he had brushed it.

“It is combed!”

“What only the front part?” Carlisle asked.

“That’s all people see!”

Esme huffed as she stood on her toes and brushed his unruly locks down, they sprung right back up as soon as her fingers retreated.

Edward ran his fingers through his hair with a smile, “better?”

“Not by much.”

“Perfect,” he beamed as he opened the front door.

Edward beat them to the car and opened the passenger door for Esme, glancing back to grin at Carlisle as he stole his signature move.

The hour car ride was silent, Edward attempted to start conversation multiple times but every attempt fell flat. His two companions were both busy over analyzing their coat interaction.

 _‘What on earth was that?_ ’ Carlisle thought as he pulled the automobile onto the long driv _eway._

 _‘What had that meant? Could he possibly? No. But why would he do that? Maybe? No. He did not want to be embarrassed in public by a disheveled companion. Surely, that is what that was.’_ Esme fiddled with her thumbs while she watched the forest zoom by.

_‘She fixed my tie. No one has ever fixed my tie. My tie was fine. She fixed my tie which was fine. She wanted to be close to me. She was close to me. She agreed to go on a date. A date with me. Could she? She? No. You will not take advantage of the position you put her in.’_

_‘He asked me on a date. He said ‘it’s a date.”_

_‘No, this is not a date.’_ The two mentally agreed.

On one hand Edward wanted to bash in his own skull with a sledgehammer but on the other the rising tension was a great prelude to their upcoming adventure. They way things were going they would be together by the end of the day and his suffering would be over.

He jumped out of the car at the front of the university’s campus, and bid his two friends farewell, anxious to see how their date, that was not a date, went.

“You can sit up here if you like,” Carlisle said glancing back to her in the rearview mirror, the slamming of the passenger door still rung in the air.

“Alright,” Esme said and slid out of the backseat. She got in the front seat without a word. He watched as she crossed her ankles and wrapped her arms around herself. She sat as far away from him as possible, practically melted into the car door.

They again drove in silence, the whir of the engines around them and the roar of the wind filling the small cab of the automobile. Carlisle parked by the Ferry dock so they could walk the full length of the city’s main street. As the bellow of the engine died it was quickly replaced with the call of seagulls overhead and the muffled conversations of the sparse passer-bys.

“Shall we?” Esme muttered after what felt like three hours, but her timepiece told her was only three minutes.

“Of course,” Carlisle was out of the car and opened her door in a matter of seconds.

“Someone will see you!” She chastised with a laugh.

“I checked, no one’s around,” he offered his hand and smiled as she placed her smaller gloved hand in his.

He locked the doors behind her, and offered his arm as they began to walk.

“Thirst doing alright?” He asked as they quickly passed the docks, the stench of salt and fish carcasses assaulted their noses.

“Yes,” she nodded, but as she saw a group approaching added, “but I find it best to keep distracted.” They stepped onto the sidewalks of the main street. The sound of heartbeats tucked away in the dozens of buildings was a faint distraction to him but he knew she was more attuned to the melodic thrum.

“How shall I distract you?” He whispered as he nodded to the strangers on the sidewalk.

“Just keep talking,” her fingers ran up and down his bicep, they alternated between rubbing up and down and tapping. Alternating between touching his arm and the air, dancing as if she was playing the piano.

“About?”

“Anything.”

“A tracheotomy is a procedure in which an incision is made to allow a direct airway to the trachea..” He started to profess, slipping into the most easily accessible knowledge he had.

“The picture of bloody necks is really not helping,” she hissed.

“The state of Oklahoma just banned teaching evolution in schools.”

“Fascinating,” she kept a focused eye on the humans hundreds of yards away, “how do you feel about it?”

“Oklahoma was beautiful, but it’s been years since I’ve lived there.”

“I didn’t mean the state.”

“I consider myself a man of great faith but on the other hand I am a man of science. Charles Darwin has made some incredible points. I remember reading his first works but the theory seems to be getting a revival of sorts in the last few years, I’m interested to see how it develops.”

A couple exited the door of the grocery store in front of them, and Esme tensed against him, her fingers went rigid and he felt her stop breathing, “tell me a story?”

“You know my friend Siobhan?”

“The one from Ireland?”

“That’s the one. The first time I met her she beat me with a shoe.”

“That’s not very nice.”

“To be quite honest I deserved it. I had followed her for a few days, trying to see if she was hostile. And then one day I must have not been paying attention because she snuck up on me while I was hunting. She started questioning me relentlessly, and I got so flustered I sunk into such a thick accent. Which, of course, made my case even worse because she does not have an affinity for the English.”

“So she beat you with a shoe?”

“Not then, she tricked me into meeting the rest of her coven, who were suspicious of me but fairly kind.”

“They beat you with a shoe?” She asked through clenched teeth as a man tipped his hat at her, flicking his cigar on the sidewalk as he passed.

“Liam, her mate, and I were discussing my time in England and I made the mistake of boasting about the country as a whole.”

“Then he beat you with a shoe?” She gulped, her free hand scratching at her leg, clearly running out of fresh air.

“No.”

“Carlisle, you’re not very good at this whole telling stories thing.”

“Thank you, my dear,” he laughed while he shot a smile to the school children who ran by, tightening his arm around hers when her gazed intensely followed them.

“No! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” she tore her eyes off the door the kids had entered to utter the double entendre.

“It’s alright, I’ve just never had someone want to hear my stories.”

“Well I do,” she took a deep breath as the sidewalk was empty for once.

Carlisle stopped walking to let her catch her breath, bending down to re-tie his shoe as she took deep breaths, a human excuse to stop in the middle of a sidewalk, “do you remember how we met?”

“You know I do,” she smiled down at him.

“You joked about how an apple a day was supposed to keep the doctor away but apples brought you to one.”

She laughed as he finished tying his own shoe; but, noticed the end of strap of her heel had slipped out of the buckle. He slid forward on his knee and carefully slipped the strap back into its buckle. He heard her breathing stop but no heartbeats, he looked up to her quickly to check she was alright. She met his eyes for a second before quickly glancing away. The gasp had been caused by his actions. His gaze remained on her, he had practically memorized her face at this point. Yet this angle was different, she looked different, this was a new image to sear into his index of Esme information. Her marble skin looked soft, she wasn’t as angular as most of their kind. It was like watching an ancient statue come to life. The wisps of caramel hair that had escaped from the confined updo and now blew against her face in the wind. He watched as the wind left soft kisses upon the curves of her cheeks that should have been a rosy pink. The small upwards curve of her lips, a soft smile of embarrassment or gratitude he was unsure. Looking at her at this angle was like walking through the Louvre. She was art to be revered. Her very existence demanded respect, a testament to heavenly creation, she deserved to be worshiped. He wanted nothing more to scream his undying devotion-

“I remember,” her hand was suddenly in front of his face, offering to help him up,“what else did you do that day?” She asked when he finally stood.

“The patient before you was an old man with a tiny cough, that had occurred for five years,” he took her hand in his, linking his fingers between hers.

“That was an emergency?”

“That’s exactly what we all said!” He exclaimed as he leaned into her side, “I remember I had to eat a bologna sandwich for lunch because some of my coworkers were getting very suspicious.”

“Oh goodness,” she wrinkled her nose, “bologna was bad enough when food tasted good.”

“I assure you it is much worse in this life,” he laughed at the furrow of her brows, “I was so worried my breath was going to smell like extruded meat for the rest of the day. I couldn’t wait to expel it.”

“How long did you have to wait?”

“Seven hours!”

“Ech,” he smiled as she stuck her tongue out, “at least I don’t remember you smelling like lunchmeat.”

“I’m glad, I wouldn’t want that to be your first impression of me.”

“Did I correct your French?” She asked suddenly.

“We can pretend you didn’t.”

“No, I remember,” she laughed, “you said jejune as gee-june.”

He rested his forehead on her shoulder, a chuckle racked his frame, “I hoped you had forgotten that.”

“I can’t believe I had the gall to correct you.”

“I was mortified! I had lived in France and here I was being corrected by some farm girl! I don’t even know why I said it like that. You flustered me.”

“I was mortified I even did it. My mother never let me forget it.”

“What was your first impression of me?”

“You’re supposed to be the one talking,” she reminded him as a welcome bell rang in the store behind them and the sound of footsteps followed.

“Alright, my first impression of you was-“

“I don’t want to hear it!” She waved her free hand to stop him, “you like me now that’s all that matters.”

“I liked you then! I thought you were funny, I thought your parents were a little stiff, but you were clever and inquisitive, you were…” he knew dozens of languages, and could never word the effect that meeting had on him, “I was rooting for you.”

“You were?”

“I thought you would make a great teacher, that you were going to do wonderful things,” he turned his head to look at her, “and I was correct.”

“You were the only person who thought that.”

“I have a habit of being right. I thought you knew that, Ms. Platt.”

She giggled as they crossed the street, “I thought you were nice.”

“Just nice? Not wickedly handsome, not the smartest man you’d ever met, not the best doctor in the whole wide world?” He bounced from one foot to the other with a grin that always emphasized his youth.

“Correction, I thought you were a tad arrogant,” she elbowed him with a smile.

“Just a tad?” He asked as he spotted the bookstore three stores down.

“I thought you were charming, smart, and overall just a good person.”

“You did?”

“Not horrible on the eyes either,” she ran her thumb against the top of his hand as she spoke, “now I know you’re also a colossal dork.”

“Thank you,” he straightened the collar of his coat with his free hand.

They stopped walking as they reached the front of the bookstore. There was little chatter in the store, probably two to three people maximum.

“Are you ready?”

“You’ll be right by, right?”

“I always am.”

“Can we wait a minute?”

“As long as you need.”

Their hands were still joined, her thumb was now drawing circles against his hand. Her eyes were focused on nothing in particular down the street, her shoulders far too straight, her jaw had tensed.

“Stop thinking about it.”

“I don’t think I can do this.”

“I know you can,” he took her other hand so he stood directly in front of her, “just focus on everything else.”

“You have to keep talking.”

“As if you could keep me quiet,” he squeezed both her hands until she smiled. “Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

“I’ve got you,” he walked them over to the front door and opened it for her with one hand, his other still clutched in hers.

As soon as the door swung closed behind them she was as stiff as a board. He squeezed her hand again and started to lead her to the mystery section.

“Dr. Cullen!” The bookstore owner called from the front counter as he spotted the doctor.

“Hello, Mr. Moore!” Carlisle stopped in his tracks, Esme not expecting the stop and jerked a little.

“The book you were looking for finally came in,” he said as he turned to search in the boxes behind the counter.

“Don’t mess with me!”

“First edition of _Dracula_ , here it is,” he raised the book hand covered in a white glove.

“Oh goody!” Carlisle exclaimed as he pulled Esme to the front counter. “May I inspect?”

“Of course,” Mr. Moore passed over a pair of matching white gloves to Carlisle.

Carlisle finally dropped Esme’s hand as he slipped the gloves on, he reached out to the book and opened the cover with utter care.

“You must be Mrs. Cullen,” Mr. Moore reached out a hand to Esme, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“A pleasure to meet you as well,” she smiled as she shook his hand, the gloves disguising the temperature discrepancy.

“I’ll take it!” Carlisle closed the cover softly, “but first I promised this girl your most salacious murder mystery,” he took off the gloves and replaced them with Esme’s hand.

“That’d be Agatha Christie, she just released a new title, let’s see.”

“ _Murder on the Links_?” Esme asked quietly.

“That’s the one!” Mr. Moore said, “aisle three.”

“Thank you,” Carlisle said already leading Esme to the aisle.

“You did fantastic,” he whispered into her hair as she pursued the books. She picked one up and read the back cover, her eyes danced over the words. He watched as she opened the front cover checked the price and then slipped it back into the shelf. “Get whatever you want.”

“Carl-“

“That’s not my name,” he reminded her.

“Dear in an admonishing tone just doesn’t have the same effect.”

He watched her move down the aisle, and he slipped the book she had returned into his hand. They continued this pattern throughout the store, he stopped often to add his own picks to the growing pile. She was far too distracted by the books to notice his behavior. Her focus kept switching from the humans scattered around the store and the endless books. Once they had done a loop around the whole store she finally turned to look at him and the stack that had grown so large he had to rest his chin on top to carry it.

“C-Honey, what do you think you’re doing?”

“You can add if you’d like.”

She stepped closer to him as she peered at the titles and started to remove books he had picked for her.

“I said add, no subtracting,” he tried to reach for the books she removed but still had quite a few in his hands, the stack wobbled as he leaned forward.

“I’m not letting you buy all of these.”

“Nothing would make me happier.”

“You can’t say that every time I object to your plans,” she started to flit about the store and return the books to where they belonged.

“But nothing would make me happier!” He titled his head and batted his eyelashes, “let me buy you three.”

“None.”

“Three,” he stopped trying to charm her, instead he widened his eyes and stared at her intensely, “three.”

“You can’t hypnotize me,” she said returning two books to the shelf.

“Five,” he pleaded as he trailed behind her.

“That is not how bargaining works.”

“Two.”

“One.”

“Yes!” He whisper cheered, “and the Christie.”

“The Christie is one.”

“Doesn’t count. I’ll read it too.” He watched as she placed the last books, besides the Christie, on the shelves, her fingers lingered on the spine of _Little Women_. “You’ll love that one.”

“More than the Christie?”

“You’ll love both,” he tucked all his books under one arm and grabbed Little Women with the other, “you’re getting both.”

“How can I repay you?”

“Let me read them with you.”

“Then technically they would be yours. I would just be borrowing them,” she rationalized, “I’ve borrowed plenty of your books in the past. I suppose that would be alright.”

“Perfect,” he kissed her cheek and grabbed the Christie from her hands, distracting her with the display of affection “anything else?”

“No.” With that he led her back towards the front counter.

“You know this is perfect timing we just finished our last mystery.”

“I knew the ending.”

“I don’t recall a ghost killer.”

“I eventually got the ending!”

“After the book ended?” He smiled, ready to tease her more, but was interrupted by Mr. Moore.

“Find everything alright?”

“Yes, thank you,” Esme nodded as Carlisle placed his books on the counter and dug for his wallet in his pockets.

A yelp came from the back of the store as Mr. Moore tallied up the books. From the sounds of it an employee had stubbed their toe because the cry quickly transitioned to laughter. Esme’s gaze remained glued on the door of the back room, the corner of her mouth twitched slightly. Her eyes had darkened dramatically from the light gold they were at the start of this adventure. Now they were a dark honey color, quickly darkening as her attention remained on the stubbed toe. Carlisle discreetly moved his hand to the small of her back, hoping to break her transfixion. Her head snapped from the storage room to his face, faster than a human’s speed, but Mr. Moore was too focused on his counting to notice. Her wide eyes were apologetic, with an underlying twinge of desperation. Carlisle understood the silent plea and hurriedly finished the transaction, the first edition of _Dracula_ wrapped carefully, the rest of the books placed in a paper bag.

“Thank you, Mr. Moore,” Carlisle said already halfway through the door, his hand tightly keeping Esme contained.

“Thank you, enjoy the books!” Mr. Moore called as the shop door closed.

As the door closed she hurried to the edge of the sidewalk, distancing herself as far away from the humans as she could. He hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until he heard the little gasps. She clutched the carefully wrapped box to her chest as she tried to slow her breathing and calm her thirst. He just stood beside her, ready to stop her if need be but trusting he would not need to. When her breathing calmed and she would finally meet his gaze he once again reached to link their hands, for safety reasons of course.

“How are you feeling?” He whispered as he started to lead them back down the street.

“I’ve been better. I’ve been worse.”

“Do you need to go home?”

“Not yet, it’s just uncomfortable.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.”

Carlisle scoffed and adjusted the bag in his arms.

“I didn’t realize it took so much effort.”

“It gets better with time.”

“No, I mean the whole pretending to be a person thing.”

“Oh yes. That unfortunately does not seem to get easier with time, to be honest I still struggle with it.”

“I found myself worrying more about whether I looked normal than worrying about if I was going to tear into their throats, well until that last part.”

“That’s a great sign.”

“I hope so.”

“Esme, you did beautifully,” he said, lightly squeezing her hand.

“Dracula?” She dodged the compliment.

“It’s for Edward, his birthday’s coming up. He doesn’t really like to celebrate but I thought it would be amusing.”

“June right?”

“June twentieth.”

“He’d be twenty-two?”

“Yes, but don’t worry you’re still our resident senior citizen,” he grinned.

“You sure have a lot of age jokes for a man older than dirt.”

“You won’t tell Edward about the book right?”

“My thoughts are sealed,” she said while she mimed locking her brain and throwing away the key.

They entered the parking lot, passing a few humans along the way, and made their way to the car, both dreading the end of their not a date.

“We still have time before Edward is supposed to meet us,” Carlisle said as he stowed the books away in the car. “Would you care to walk some more? There’s a nice view of the harbor down the ways a little, we could sit and watch the boats?”

“That sounds nice.”

“I could bring a book, we could read if you want?” He was scrambling for any way to prolong their excursion.

“That sounds lovely.”

He stowed _Murder on the Links_ in the inside of his coat and locked the car once more. This time she was the one to offer her hand first, which he gladly took.

They walked along the seawall, the clouds getting heavier over head. As they left Main Street and further into the cold the threat of humans diminished.

“It’s so much better in person,” she muttered as she stared out at the sea.

“Hm?”

“The ocean, I don’t think I will ever get over it.”

“It is incredible is it not?”

“I wish I could see it in the sun,” she sighed, “have you ever seen it sunny?”

He nodded finding the words to pay justice to the wondrous view, “it glistens almost like your skin.”

“Really?”

“If the sun catches the ripples just right, the blue is a lot lighter in the sun too. During sunset the colors reflect on the water and it turns a dozen shades of pinks, oranges, and reds. It’s an awe inspiring sight.”

“What’s it like to swim in it?”

“You have never swam?”

“In lakes and ponds but I doubt they compare.”

“They do not. When I was alone sometimes I would swim for hours until I reached a point where I was surrounded by nothing but water. There’s a point where you can’t see land at all, just dark blue ocean, it makes you feel like you’re the only person on the planet.”

“That doesn’t seem pleasant.”

“I imagine it’s a lot more enjoyable when you’re not completely and utterly consumed by your own loneliness,” he smiled, “maybe we can try it one of these days.”

“Really?”

“If you would like too.”

“I think I would,” she said wandering closer to the edge of the sidewalk to peer into the dark water below them.

“Have you ever been on a boat?”

She shook her head eyes still fixed on the sea.

“Maybe we’ll have to try that too.”

He was already picturing yachting down the coast in a little sailboat, far enough from shore she could sparkle freely. He could see her lounged on the deck sketching in one of her more risqué sundresses. They would spend their time trying to dive to the bottom of the ocean. Her eyes would light up as she realized she did not need to breathe. He could see sitting on the bottom of the ocean, still as a rock letting the fish swim by, just so she could look at them. Swimming would be difficult in her dresses, would she wear one of the new fangled bathing costumes? Swimming was becoming more and more popular among humans and the new costumes were no longer made of the heavy wool of years prior. Would she wear something like that woman diving in a red suit he saw on advertisements? The form fitting garment that would show every curve of her figure, and oh what —No! No. No. He would not sully her being with his own lecherous thoughts. He violated her enough already by dooming her to this fate. He desecrated her dying wish. Possibly damned her for eternity. He was her creator. He had a responsibility to be a guiding hand in her life. He would not deface her. He was supposed to atone for his sins not commit more. He could not take advantage of his position in her life. He did not save her for his own lustful desires. He refused to be yet another man in her life who defiled her autonomy. She owed him nothing. Then why couldn’t he stop thinking about that damned suit? The lily white skin of her chest, her thighs, the scars he had left that he had not seen since her transformation illuminated by the sun’s rays…No! No.

Maybe swimming would not be such a great idea. At least not until he got a hold of himself.

“Let me be able to handle an empty bookstore first,” she said completely unaware of the mental torment he had just put himself through, “fish.”

He looked over the railing to where she pointed at two grey fish swimming in the rocks. “Pacific herring, I believe.”

“Does their blood taste different?” She whispered as she started to walk again.

“A little bit, the worst part is how slimy they are though.”

“Worse than fur?”

“Worse than fur.”

“Have you ever had skunk?”

“I see Edward has asked you this question as well.”

“He did, but now I’m curious.”

“All I ask is you don’t come home smelling like one.”

“You’re allowed to come home everyday smelling like formaldehyde but heaven forbid I smell once!” She laughed as they passed as a bench. “Can we sit here?”

“Of course,” Carlisle said as he took a seat. The bench was not the spot he had originally thought of but he didn’t mind. This view was somehow better, able to see the harbor and the ferry docks simultaneously. She sat down next to him, leaving mere inches between them, despite the bench giving them ample room to spread out.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed, she kept her hands in her lap her fingers fidgeting mindlessly. He had to restrain from taking them in his own once again. It was incredible how at peace she looked. Strands of her hair had escaped from the updo and had curled in the humidity. Her eyes had returned to light gold, the shade that made daffodils his favorite flower. A faint smile rested on her face as she gazed out to the sea. The restless look that always seemed to bounce around her gaze had dissipated, she was calm. This is where she belonged, he was sure of it.

“It is,” he said, she didn’t look at him but by her widening smile he knew she knew he was not gazing at the ocean.

“I love the smell, the salt and the rain, is that odd?”

“It’s sort of comforting isn’t it?”

“Comforting, that’s a good word for it,” she nodded. “I’d never seen an ocean before last month but if feels like home in a way. That sounds insane.”

“I don’t think it’s strange at all.”

“Isn’t home supposed to be a place, not a feeling?”

“I thought it was supposed to be a person.”

“Really?”

“I have heard that over the years, yes.”

“Who’s your home then?”

“You,” he responded without a thought and quickly added, “and Edward.”

“You sure are a charmer.”

“I mean it. I was alone for so long, I lived in every situation one could imagine and nothing ever felt right,” he had not intended on divulging his deepest thoughts on a bench next to a ferry dock but he had already started, “I lived with people, I made friends, I helped people and I only felt lonelier. I lived in the most visually stunning homes and felt nothing. And then,” he snapped his fingers, “I was home. All of a sudden I had something, someone, worth coming home to. Now I think I could be anywhere in the world and feel home.”

“I’m glad you and Edward found each other.”

“You too, missy. You are as much a part of this as he is,” he had not realized how intense his voice had gotten, it still was not half of how intensely he felt, “Edward is the rain and you are the saltwater.”

She had held his gaze his entire confession but as he used her own words as a metaphor she tore her eyes back to the sea. Her eyes were glistening, the way they did before tearless sobs wracked her body. Had he overstepped? Did he just reveal something he aught not have?

“You’re home too,” she whispered as the wind blustered around them, she rested her hand by her thigh on the bench. He mirrored the action, keeping his eyes on the horizon. He was not sure who linked who’s pinky in whom’s just that it happened.

A fishing boat returned to its slip in the harbor, people boarded the ferry, cars left the parking lot down the street, the world spun and their pinkies remained locked. At some point it began to drizzle again, the rain landed on their heads in soft drops.

“Oh shoot,” Esme said as she looked up to the sky, a raindrop falling on the tip of her nose. “We have to go now don’t we?”

“Not necessarily,” Carlisle said as he took his hand back and started to unbutton his coat. He took the book from the inside pocket and handed it to Esme. He then stretched the coat behind him as he tucked into her side, lifting the coat to rest over their heads, shielding them from the rain. Their thighs touched under their makeshift canopy and he had to keep an arm around her shoulder so she didn’t get consumed by the large coat. It was far from inconspicuous but he could not find the will to care.

She laughed, her face inches from his own, as she looked up at their shelter, “now who’s going to freeze to death?”

“Au contraire madame, I am quite dead.”

“Do you want to read?” She asked, making sure to keep the book out of the rain.

“Would you?” He loved the sound of her reading aloud, she did it so rarely, too fearful she would embarrass herself by mispronouncing words. But he hoped now she would oblige, his hands were occupied after all.

“Of course,” she opened the book, holding it in her lap so he could still see the pages, she rested her head on his shoulder as she turned to the first page. “ _I believe that a well-known anecdote exists to the effect_ ,” she started to read. He let his eyes slip close and his head rest on top of her own, caressed by the warmth of her voice and her tucked into his side the constant chill in his bones seemed to melt away completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry this chapter took so long! it was originally supposed to be a very different chapter but i gave myself a concussion (casual things ya know) and decided to rewrite it, which i think ended up working out well! next chapter should be out much sooner! thank you again for reading!!


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